


At Vinehall

by Andromache_42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assault is NOT between Dean and Cas, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blackmail, Bottom Dean Winchester, Coercion, Dubious Consent (not sexually explicit acts), Gender politics, Graduate Student Castiel, Implied Mpreg, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Misogyny, Nonconsensual (non-sexual) Intimacy, Omega Dean, Slow Burn, Top Castiel, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-02-14 21:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13016913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromache_42/pseuds/Andromache_42
Summary: Dean Winchester spent so much of his life taking care of his little brother Sam that he hardly even noticed how he presented. He was used to trying to work outside of the law in order to keep Sammy safe, warm, and fed. But when a customer discovers that Dean is breaking the law in order to work at Bobby's, Dean is given a choice: the stranger will keep his silence and even pay for Sam to go to Stanford, the prestigious alpha university, and send Dean to Vinehall School for Omegas, if Dean agrees to be the stranger's companion when he graduates. Dean can do this; he can fulfill the deal and protect Sam forever.Castiel Novak is in his final year of graduate school. He just needs to finish his final project in order to earn his Master's in Omega Studies and start doing the work he wants to do. Cataloguing the narratives of Vinehall omegas - the most beautiful, well-bred, and privileged omegas in the country - proves to be a daunting task. Then, one day, a stunning, green-eyed male omega greets him on the quad and gives him the introduction he needs to complete the project.Neither Dean nor Castiel expected to fall in love in the process.





	1. Chapter 1

“I think that’ll do it! Let’s head back to the office and we’ll get you back on the road.”

  


Dean wiped his hands on a spare handkerchief, deposited it on the work table by the door, and led the customer back inside. A jingling bell announced their entrance to the _very_ chipper receptionist, Marcy. She beamed at them.

  


“Are we all set, Mr. Harris?” she asked, though she looked at Dean. Dean nodded, giving himself a moment to acclimate to the air in the room. Mr. Harris was a beta. He didn’t notice the artificially clean smell of scent blockers that permeated the garage’s office. He smiled right back at Marcy.

  


“Dean does good work,” Mr. Harris said, reaching out to sign off on the paperwork for the repairs.

  


“Don’t we just know it? He’s the best mechanic we’ve got,” Marcy replied, ringing up the total in the register. Dean shot her a scathing look.

  


Mr. Harris scanned his credit card without batting an eye at the total, which always made Dean uncomfortable, then took his keys and walked out into the growing dusk. The door rang behind him.

  


“Marcy, you’ve gotta cut it out with that crap,” he said, scowling. Marcy scoffed.

  


“Nonsense, I don’t care who you are, we’ve got the best mechanic in all of South Dakota right here at Singer’s Auto Repair. Second to Bobby, maybe.”

  


Dean rolled his eyes, then winked and switched tactics. “Why, Marcy, I had no idea you were so smitten with the man! You just keep your flirtations out of the work place, young lady.”

  


Marcy spluttered a bit, but blushed, and Dean knew he had his out. He gave her one last small smile and ducked out of the door. “I’m clocking out, Marcy. See ya Monday!”

  


Dean left the garage at the end of the day with a sigh of relief. He loved his job, but every day that he went undetected was another day he could count as a success. Most customers (even alphas and omegas, whose senses of smell were much more acute than the beta population majority) dismissed the strong, clinical odor of blockers in the main office as a precaution. A place of business where customers paid for a service should be neutral ground. It made perfect sense to not let tempers or secondary genders become an issue in matters of cost. Plus, the customers themselves brought their own worry and anxiety with them which could become overwhelming after a while. So, none of Singer’s patrons were suspicious of the practice.

  


Even though, strictly speaking, they had a right to be.

  


Dean parked the Impala in the driveway with a small squeak of the suspension. He frowned and made a mental note to check her out while he was off this weekend. After all, it was only a matter of time . . .

  


He closed the front door behind him with a heavy _thud_ and kicked his boots off in the entry way. “Lucy, I’m home!” he called.

  


“Yeah, and Ricky Ricardo you ain’t,” Bobby grunted from the kitchen. Dean stomped his way there, the usual scents of sawdust, old books, and the faintest hint of mildew--of _home--_ surrounding him. Bobby was sitting at the table, sorting through a large pile of junk mail. Dean reached into the fridge, pulled out a beer, and set a second one down in front of Bobby as Dean sat and popped the cap from the bottle. Bobby handed him a large manila envelope in the silence, and Dean forgot to breathe.

  


“Don’t know what you’re so shocked for,” Bobby grumbled, not looking up. “S’not like you didn’t know this was comin’”

  


Dean’s head was buzzing. He stared down at the envelope. A large embossed return address was stamped in the top corner, his own name and mailing address hand written in the center in rich black ink with many unnecessary flourishes. The whole thing smelled like violets, and Dean’s stomach turned over.

  


“I’m going to take a shower,” Dean said, swallowed a large gulp of beer, then took both the envelope and the bottle with him.

  


Upstairs, Dean left the envelope on his bed. He let the shower run hot for a minute or two while he breathed the steam in deeply while he finished his beer. With a sigh, he shed his clothes and stepped under the spray.

  


It didn’t take long for the water to wash over him and the faint hints of leather and honey to intensify in the steam. He watched the water swirl around his feet before reaching for his soap. He squirted a dollop in his palm before he realized that he had grabbed the wrong bottle. The envelope came today. It was time to switch over.

  


Reluctantly, Dean replaced the scent-blocking body wash and picked up the brand new bottle of the scent-neutral stuff. He sniffed at it, his nose tingling at the unfamiliar . . . blankness of it. The old stuff had been mildly scented, like a beta might be, enough to not only mask his natural scent but give him the cover he needed. This new kind, though . . . it was designed and marketed to people like him. He was expected to use it daily now, for the rest of his life.

  


He washed, leather and honey now nearly smothering him in the air as he rinsed, shut off the water, and stepped from the tub. His fingers itched toward the pheromone-blocking deodorant in the medicine cabinet before he pulled out the new, neutral one. He peeled back the protective plastic layer and read the marketing on the side. Words like, “scent-filtering” and “fresh and all you!” hyped a long-lasting, clean-smelling version of his own natural scent that would be free of any other disgusting body odors. Because, you know, you don’t sweat when you’re an—

  


Dean finished drying now, maybe with a little more force than strictly necessary. He threw on a new pair of boxers and crossed the hall to his bedroom.

  


The envelope lay where he left it, taunting him from his bed.

  


It was a trivial thing, unimportant on its own, but its contents . . . Every day for the rest of his life . . .

  


Dean threw his towel across the room at the hamper, then tore open the envelope roughly, turning its contents out on the bed.

  


There were three or four packets of papers, each a different pastel color with graphics of smiling young people engaged in different activities on the cover. A large booklet in the middle was embossed with the same ink as the return address on the envelope. The dusty blue cover had a seal made of crawling vines circling an old building in the center, with the words “Vinehall School” in academic print below. Dean reached for the shiny booklet, and opened it, the smell of violets wafting off of every page.

  


“ _Welcome to Vinehall_ ,” he muttered to himself as he read the introduction. “ _Congratulations on your acceptance into the premiere academy of higher learning for omegas!_ ”

  


_Fuck_. There was that word. The word he’d avoided for so long, just trying to get by, trying to make it for Sammy. A word he was now going to have to embrace for the first time in his life.

  


A word that now defined him and everything he could potentially offer society.

  


A contract.

  


_Omega_.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel brushed his hands over his thighs, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from the fabric. He tried to breathe evenly, keeping his scent neutral to not betray his nerves. He was starting to wish he’d used blockers, but all of his advisors had advised against it. It was unwise to meet another alpha without being able to scent each other. Typical alpha power play. Beside him, Hannah was a calming presence. Her beta scent was naturally even, as light as the air on a bright spring day. He chanced a glance up at her and she was smiling benignly at him. He attempted to return it grimly. The large, ornate clock on the wall showed that their designated meeting time had passed nearly half an hour ago. How long would they have to wait?

". . . book a table at the club for Friday, then!”

Castiel started as the office door in front of him opened and the last vestige of a conversation drifted out. Two middle-aged, balding alphas stepped through the door, laughing pompously and shaking hands. Their scents quickly filled the small office, overwhelming Castiel with the tangy smell of alpha aggression. It overpowered the background scent of violets that wafted throughout the campus on his way to the meeting. Castiel took more deep breaths to continue controlling his reaction. One of the alphas walked the other toward the outer office, chuckling and posturing as they went. Castiel resisted the urge to curl his fingers into his trousers as the taller of the two alphas bade farewell to his companion and then turned toward Cas. An oily grin crawled across his face, his hawk-like eyes gazing sharply down at Castiel past a pointed nose. Castiel drummed up as much of his own alpha instinct as he could as he was approached.

“You must be Castiel Novak,” said the older alpha. He extended a ruddy hand. “I’m Zachariah Adler, President of Vinehall School.”

Castiel stood and grasped Zachariah’s hand firmly. It was clammy. “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said, voice rougher than usual from the time spent in silence waiting for the meeting. “This is Hannah Johnson, my research assistant.”

Zachariah’s lip curled in something between curiosity and a sneer as Hannah stood and extended her own hand. He sniffed, not even bothering to cover his obvious scenting, before turning back to Castiel. “Beta?” he asked. Castiel nodded.

“Of course,” he said. Hannah shot him a look, but Castiel pressed very gently at her arm to calm her. Zachariah chuckled.

“Well, we can’t be too careful. I’m sure you’ve seen the news, all those omegas caught with contraband lately. And she’s really almost too pretty for a beta!”

Castiel watched out of the corner of his eye as Hannah clearly just barely managed to avoid making a disdainful noise; as it was, her eyebrows crooked a few centimeters upward. Luckily, Adler was beckoning them into his office and he didn’t catch it. Castiel turned toward her while Adler’s back was to them and gave her a meaningful squint. Hannah raised her hands slightly in acquiescence.

Adler had never shaken her hand.

“Come in, come in!” Adler beckoned, and with a final look, Castiel led Hannah into the office.

It reeked of Adler. His scent was yeasty and sharp, like sourdough bread, with an edge of something artificial and masculine. Probably sandalwood, likely from an alpha cologne. Castiel worked to hide his distaste for it on his face. Hannah was drawing very shallow breaths beside him to avoid it.

“Well, have a seat, Mr. Novak!” Adler said, gesturing to the two chairs placed before the desk. Castiel slid into one while Hannah took the other. Adler was reclining in his own black leather chair on the opposite side, hands resting on his small paunch. He regarded them with a self-satisfied air for a moment. Castiel met his gaze, calmly folding his own hands into his lap. Zachariah chuckled again at some secret joke.

“I’ve gotta say, when I first heard your proposal I thought you were a damn fool, Novak,” he said. “Why the hell would I ever let you near my omegas?”

“I believe I presented my research proposal adequately, Mr. Adler—”

“That was rhetorical, son,” Adler said. “I agreed, didn’t I? I’m still not sure about the whole thing, but you come from a decent family and I have a lot of respect for Dr.  Milton. Hell of an alpha, even if she’s female. I’m sure you can behave yourself.”

“Of course,” Castiel replied again. “I have a detailed timeline and a standard list of questions that I plan to use with each subject—”

“That’s fine, that’s fine. So, Mr. Novak, let’s talk about the rules while you’re here,” Adler continued as though Castiel hadn’t spoken. “First, we’ve gotten approval for you to use suppressants for your stay. You’ll have to visit the campus physician to get them, and we can’t let you have your first round of interviews until they’ve taken effect, but you’re welcome to hand out your fliers and see if you can get any participants.” Castiel didn’t like his smile. “And you’ll wear scent blockers, too. Can’t have anyone scent bonding with you while you’re having heart-to-hearts! I’m going to assume you’re recording everything for your research?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll need weekly copies of those, too. Just to make sure you’re not getting up to anything behind closed doors! Your beta companion will have to be present for all interactions as well, obviously.”

Hannah bristled next to Castiel, a small growl finally escaping from her at the phrasing. Castiel jumped in quickly. “Mr. Adler, Miss Johnson is my research assistant. We are colleagues, and I don’t appreciate your insinuation that she is . . . _beholden_ to me in any way.”

“ _She_ is also her own person,” Hannah spat. “And can speak for herself.”

Adler burst out laughing. “Oh, Castiel, she’s _feisty_!” he said. Hannah ground her teeth but remained silent. “Don’t go giving my omegas any ideas, now!

“Right! So, suppressants, blockers, regular reports . . . I think that’s everything! You can see my secretary on your way out, she has the keys to your apartment and office space.”

And just like that, they were dismissed. Adler turned to his computer and proceeded to ignore them. Apparently, they were not going to be walked out. Castiel rose to his feet and hoped Hannah would follow him.

She did, and after they had picked up the keys to their spaces from the pretty little omega secretary in the outer office they made their way out onto the quad.

“That man is an asshole,” Hannah growled as Castiel led them toward their car.

“What, the alpha who runs the largest finishing school for omegas in the world, is a giant dick?” Castiel said. “I’m incredibly surprised.”

“Spare me your sarcasm, Castiel, until after you’ve been completely ignored and labeled a _companion_.” She shuddered.

“Keep your voice down,” Castiel said. A small group of omega students were walking by, each dressed in airy fabrics and pretty pastels, voices soft as they spoke to each other behind their hands. A cloud of delicate omega scents drifted past them, but it was all muted under the scent of the official school scent blocker they all wore. They all smelled mostly of violets.

Castiel had managed to pack nearly three months’ worth of clothing and supplies in the back of his ancient Lincoln Continental, so when he and Hannah arrived at the lodgings the school had provided he grabbed a few armfuls of duffel bags and carried them up the steps.

The bungalow assigned to Castiel was well-appointed, though small. It was clean, and thankfully free of the ever-present violet stench that permeated Vinehall and its constituents. The small cluster of cabins was designated for visiting instructors and special guests of the school, so they were meticulously maintained and comfortably furnished. Castiel dumped the armful of his belongings onto the contemporary grey sofa in the living area and investigated his home for the next few months.

The living area was open to the small kitchen and dining area. The appliances were all up-to-date and fashionable, and the countertops and floors were the same warm Spanish tile. Down a short hallway was a cozy bedroom equipped with a queen-sized bed and a walk-in closet, and an en-suite bathroom with a soaker tub and a large multi-head shower. On the whole, the entire thing was far nicer than his tiny apartment in Berkeley. It wasn’t going to be a bad space to live and work in for a few months.

The bungalow opened onto a large green space that was shared with the rest of the cabins. Hannah’s was next door, so if he wanted he could simply walk from his own back porch to hers and knock on her sliding door. He took a deep breath of the clear air. It was a crisp Massachusetts September day, the sky blue above the trees that littered the green space. Maybe he could get a lawn chair to put out here while the weather was still nice. He’d never been this far east, and he was a little nervous about the winter. Most of his clothing was better suited for northern California, not New England. He might have to scrape together some funds for a sturdier winter coat.

Three months. Three months to complete his research and collect enough data to write his thesis. Surely that would be enough time. A few interviews with a handful of omegas and he would have enough material for his narrative research.

He’d been lucky. Dr. Milton hadn’t been terribly impressed with his topic, but Professor Moseley and Dr. Barnes had intervened on his behalf and gotten her to pass his prospectus. How conservative alpha Dr. Naomi Milton had ended up the Head of Omega Studies at Berkeley, one of the most liberal alpha universities in the country, was a great mystery. She was the gatekeeper for all graduate students on the way to their diplomas in the program, and Castiel could only hope that he would be able to convince her that his work was worthy when it came to his defense.

By some fluke of birth he’d been given rank and privilege. He’d promised himself a long time ago that he would try to use it for good, that he would make up for the mistakes of his past. His hand drifted toward the pendant he wore under his shirt, touching the small lump there. Perhaps he was, finally, on the edge of beginning to fulfill that promise.

 

 

 

“Mr. Novak?”

Castiel perked up and followed the young nurse back into an examination room. He smiled at Castiel blandly and gestured to the exam table, so Castiel hopped up onto it, paper cover crinkling under his hands. Posters covering various aspects of omega health hung on the walls, detailing everything from the health benefits of having regular heats to the dangers of suppressant use in bright colors and elegant fonts. Castiel skimmed a few of them, not catching many details, as the nurse pulled up a profile on the computer.

“So, you’re here for a physical and a round of suppressants, is that correct?” the nurse asked. He was a beta, or at least he didn’t have any particular scent and he wasn’t coated in the smell of violets like all of the omegas on campus were. Castiel nodded.

“Yes, I’m doing a research project with omegas at the school, so Mr. Adler thought it best that I go on suppressants for the time being. He had mentioned something about special permission . . .”

“It’s all here in your profile, Mr. Novak,” the nurse said curtly. “Everything is in order. I’ll have the physician come in shortly. First, a few routine questions. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“You are an anatomically complete male alpha, correct?”

Castiel clenched his fists at the question. “Yes, I have a penis and a knot, if that’s what you’re asking,” he spat. The nurse typed away blandly.

“These are routine questions, Mr. Novak. I’d appreciate it if you left your attitude at the door. A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will suffice. At what age was your first rut?”

Castiel chewed the inside of his cheek, but refrained from biting back. “Sixteen.”

“Regular cycles?”

“Yes.”

“How many a year?”

“Four.”

“And have you ever knotted an omega? Have you ever been mated?”

Castiel seethed. “I cannot even _begin_ to think how that is relevant.”

The nurse continued to stare at the screen. “All of these are questions that are necessary to complete your profile. I assure you, it will all be confidential and no one will have access—”

“No, I have never knotted an omega.” Castiel hesitated for a moment. “I am a virgin.”

“All right, we’ll be able to skip the sexually transmitted infection testing, then. That will expedite the process, since you cannot be placed on suppressants until those results clear.”

The nurse typed in a few more comments, then rose and said, “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

Castiel waited in silence, staring blankly at the wall. This was all necessary to get through to his work, no matter what he thought of the process. This would just be a few hours of his time and he could move on.

Dr. Davies was another beta, which Castiel supposed was unsurprising, since he oversaw the health of omegas. If Zachariah’s attitude towards Castiel being alone with them in an academic setting was typical, he couldn’t imagine an alpha being allowed to care for their health. Dr. Davies had a rough British accent and startling eyes. He took various measurements of Castiel’s vital signs, checked his ears, eyes, and throat, and pronounced him in perfect, vital health for a young alpha. He administered the first injection of suppressants, with a directive to follow up in three weeks for the second round, and Castiel was sent on his way.

Castiel went back to his bungalow feeling strange. He stopped by a pharmacy and bought a number of scent-blocking products, including body wash, deodorant, and a body spray that all guaranteed to cover his scent completely. He lingered for a moment in the aisle, looking over all of the products marketed to alphas, many of which touted an enhancement of their natural scent, or guaranteed a complete block of their scent to keep others from noticing any changes in emotion or any weaknesses.

He turned a corner to the meager section of selections for omegas, running a hand down a shelf. There were fewer products, none of which promised to cover their scent. The nearest thing was a line of scent-neutral items, otherwise it was all about making their scents more alluring to alphas.

Things were changing, Castiel thought as he checked out with his haul, but not nearly fast enough.

With suppressants beginning to kick in, Castiel prepared for the next day when he would begin recruiting for his project. He took a shower and coated himself in the new products, feeling even more out of sorts as his deep scent of old books and spiced apples gradually disappeared under the pheromone blockers. He’d never been particularly attached to his alpha designation, but he could definitely feel the suppressants starting to change his hormone chemistry, and with his typical scent covered he had to shake off the growing sense of not feeling like himself.

His cell phone rang, and he answered it immediately.

“Hannah,” he said with some relief. She kept him grounded.

“Hello, Castiel. How was the doctor?”

“As well as could be expected. Suppressants are . . . strange, to say the least.”

“You’ll get used to it. This is important, Cas.”

He smiled lightly at the affection in her voice. “Are we prepared for tomorrow?”

“I have three dozen fliers ready to hand out, and spent the day preparing the lab. I’m sure you’ll want to check it over before we begin interviews.”

“My second round of injections is in three weeks, so we can tentatively schedule our first session for the Monday following, if you’d put that in our planner?”

“Three weeks? That’s very quick. I hope you aren’t pushing this too quickly. Suppressants can damage you, you know.”

“I’m aware. I appreciate your concern, but as you said, this is important.”

Hannah paused. “I’m sure she forgives you, Castiel,” she said quietly. Castiel went cold.

“Thank you,” he said curtly. “I think I’m going to call it an early night. The suppressants are affecting me.”

He hung up without hearing her “Good night.” He touched the pendant again, lost in thought.

The evening news report played on the television in the background as Castiel attempted to put his notes in some sort of order. His literature review wasn’t helping to calm him at all, but he wanted to be busy to distract him. Adler had been right, at least according to the news. More local omegas were being sentenced to prison for unlawful possession of controlled substances. They were apparently set up by local law enforcement for trying to obtain suppressants. According to the reporter, all three were house-omegas with multiple children at home.

Castiel ground his teeth and turned off the television, throwing himself into his research. He had a lot of work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming back (or reading for the first time)! I'm so excited by the response! I hope you can all stick with me and that it turns out to be something you like. This chapter is a bit early; your response has been very encouraging! I'm thinking that I can aim for weekly updates, so I will see you all with a chapter next week!


	3. Chapter 3

“So, why is Dean going to this omega companion factory again?”

“To get the hell away from you and your alpha stink, jackass.”

“Don’t make me pull this car over, you two!”

Dean seethed in the passenger seat. “I should be driving,” he grumbled. “Riding shotgun in my Baby . . .”

“Your ID says ‘omega’ now, boy. It ain’t worth the trouble you’d get into if we were pulled over. Plus, you really think you could pull up to the shrine of old-fashioned omega ideals in the driver’s seat? Omegas ain’t allowed to drive.”

Dean knew Bobby was right, but it still sucked. As if the indignity of having to ride shotgun in his own car wasn’t enough, he could smell his own sour pheromones permeating the air in the car. He’d been using the scent-neutral stuff for almost a month now and it pissed him off every time he could scent changes in his emotions in the honey-leather smell. Sam had been ruthless, at first, picking up on every nuance with his sharp alpha nose, wondering why the hell his tougher-than-nails older brother was transitioning off his suppressants and letting the world scent him for the first time since puberty. Dean couldn’t tell him the real reason, so he’d had to explain at least _something_ about his enrollment at Vinehall. Only a couple of weeks, and then he’d be safely stowed away in the world’s foremost omega fortress. Sam would be on his way to Stanford and his future shortly after.

Of course, he hadn’t counted on the old-school procedures involved.

“What do you mean, Sammy has to come?” Dean had demanded in Bobby’s kitchen last week.

“I’m sayin’ the school’s hard-line on alpha guardianship. I’m the family alpha, but Sam’s blood, so we both gotta go sign you over. You’ll officially be a ward of the school, like everybody else.”

Dean ran a hand over his face. “Shit, Bobby. So, what, they own my ass?”

“In a manner of speaking. For all that matters, yeah.” Bobby watched Dean’s face pale, then sighed. “You got yourself into some real shit here, son.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean replied. “But it ain’t like I can say no.”

So the three of them had packed into Baby like sardines, Dean’s few belongings stuffed into the trunk, and set off toward Massachusetts. Dean had never been to Massachusetts. Hell, even when their dad had been alive and hauling the two of them all over the country, they’d never made it into New England. Too traditional, too many questions about an alpha raising his sons on his own. Local strangers had wanted to take Dean and Sam away more than once when they saw what the situation was. So, John had kept moving.

That hadn’t been possible once Dean presented. It was too dangerous to cart a fourteen-year-old brand-new omega from strange town to strange town, so John had dumped Dean at Bobby’s and took off. Dean didn’t see Sam for a year, but he’d been plenty distracted. He’d spent the year with Bobby trying to find the right doctors willing to sell them suppressants under the table. One day, a few months after John had left and after Dean’s second, agonizing heat, Bobby had plopped a bag down on the table in front of him.

“I ain’t sayin’ you gotta take ‘em,” Bobby said, “but they’re here if you want ‘em.”

Dean had taken the bag and rushed up to his room. It took more guts than he’d known he had to stick the needle in his thigh the first time, but the suppressants and topical blockers made him, for all intents and purposes, a beta, and he’d never dealt with another heat after that.

Shit, a heat. Dean hadn’t thought about that. It took some time for suppressants to work their way completely out of the system, but he would most likely be getting a heat soon. His last shot was nearly three months ago, so it couldn’t be more than a couple of weeks until the burning, needy agony wracked his body again.

Dean shuddered at the thought.

“Gross, Dean, god, you’re gonna smother me back here,” Sam complained, cranking down a window. Dean bit his lip and willed his pheromones to clear of distress. Even as family, Bobby and Sam’s alphas would respond to it and none of them could afford to stress out right now.

The last leg of their trip passed in near silence. Dean could feel Sam and Bobby’s own anxiety growing as they got closer to the school, even if he couldn’t smell it through their blockers. Dean watched the landscape roll by, trees starting to turn, so different from what he’d grown used to in South Dakota. He tried to take deep breaths. This was all temporary. He’d only be here for a few years, but then . . .

He couldn’t think about it. Sam was safe. Their secret was safe.

“Whoa!”

Sam’s exclamation broke Dean from his thoughts in time to see the pair of looming wrought-iron gates rise up out of the trees before them. True to the school’s namesake, massive amounts of vines twisted through the gates and along the fence that ran off into the distance beside them. Bobby pulled up to a speaker box and pressed the button.

“Yes?” a bored voice answered.

“Uh, yeah, Bobby Singer, here to drop off Dean Winchester? He’s a new—”

“Drive through to the administration building, please.”

The gates opened with a long creak, and Bobby drove through into the isolated world beyond.

 

 

 

“Welcome, to historic Vinehall School!”

Dean shifted awkwardly in his seat, wrinkling his nose uncomfortably. He still didn’t have the grasp of his blockers yet, and so had ended up doused in the stuff this morning before he left his room. He hadn’t had to venture out yet, so he’d been a bit heavy-handed with nerves. Basically, he completely reeked of violets. He couldn’t blame the other students when they’d given him a wide berth while taking their seats for the assembly.

He'd said goodbye to Sam eight days ago. They’d hugged in the administration building right after his baby brother had signed over his alpha rights, and, while Sam couldn’t see his face, Dean had scented him, breathing in his soft grass-and-paper smell. He’d swallowed around the lump in his throat as he patted Sam on the back and said, “no omega-flick moments.” Right now, Sam was probably packing up his side of the room they’d shared at Bobby’s in Sioux Falls and heading west for Stanford.

And Dean was here. He had stomped around campus in his dusty boots, staring down the looks of disdain he’d garnered. His clothes were clean, but he stuck out like a sore thumb here in his beat-up jeans and worn flannels. Even smelling like violets, like everything else, he’d already started to get some unwanted attention.

“Good morning, Omegas!”

Dean perked up a little as a paunchy, middle-aged alpha took the stage. The low chatter in the room died out, and he smiled unctuously at the gathered students. “For those of you who don’t know, I am President Adler, and I am the leader of this fine institution. For our older students, welcome back, and to our new students, welcome! You are all a part of a great legacy stretching back generations. I hope you’re all as proud as I am to be a part of it. Before we start, I’d like to take a moment to congratulate you all on being the future of our great country. Every man and woman in this room will go on to be the omega-parent of the next generation of leaders. We are here to prepare you for that role, and continue our storied legacy.”

That was clearly a cue, because behind Adler a screen lit up, a short film reel playing. It had clips of past leaders whose spouses had been famous graduates of Vinehall interspersed with beautiful, sweeping shots of the campus, and a few choice soundbytes provided from students.

“At Vinehall, I’m home,” said a gorgeous brunette, flipping her hair over one shoulder.

“We’re the elite, and I’m honored,” said a lovely young male, smiling into the camera.

“Vinehall prepared me for my future,” said a redhead with striking blue eyes, a graduation cap perched on her pretty head. “It will do the same for yours.”

The background music swelled, and the video faded out. A small smattering of polite applause followed, led by Adler himself.

“Before you’re all dismissed, let me introduce the men behind the school, our board! Gentlemen, please stand when you’re named.”

“Marv Armstrong” was a mousy, scruffy alpha with inkstains on the fingers of the hand he waved to the crowd.

“Bartholomew Boyle” was tall, and relatively handsome, except for the creepy leer that seemed permanent on his face.

“Dick Roman” was immediately recognizable, even to Dean, from the numerous magazine covers chronicling his business success over the years.

The final name was called, and Dean couldn’t breathe. He stared at the handsome alpha that stood at the front of the room, trying desperately to calm himself, to get his pheromones under control. He couldn’t panic in the middle of the room, but this alpha . . . this alpha he knew.

“Michael Milton” was his name. Dean hadn’t known that before. Instinctively, he cowered in his seat, trying to get himself as far out of view of Milton as possible.

Adler dismissed them all with a wish for a happy, productive year, and Dean nearly bolted from his seat. He couldn’t breathe properly until he was outside, rushing across the quad to put distance between himself and the crowd in the auditorium. Several of his classmates gave him dirty looks as he shoved past them, but he didn’t care. He just had to leave, get away—

“Yo, Dean, you okay?”

Kevin, Dean’s roommate, had caught up to him. Dean used Kevin’s hand on his back to ground himself, and eventually, after several steadying breaths, Dean didn’t feel like he was going to puke anymore.

“Yeah, man, I’m good,” Dean said, standing and wiping his forehead. Kevin looked skeptical, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he handed Dean an envelope.

“They handed us these on our way out of the door, after you bolted. This one’s yours.” Dean accepted the envelope with a nod. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Kevin,” Dean snapped. Mercifully, Kevin dropped it.

“Okay. I’ll, uh, see you back in our room, then.”

Dean swallowed a few more breaths, then finally looked around at his surroundings. He was in the middle of the quad, which was still lush and green even with the impending change in the weather. There was a bench nearby, under a pretty shade tree, so Dean moved over and sat down. There were hardly any other students around, which gave Dean a little privacy to open his envelope.

“Welcome to Vinehall, Dean Winchester,” read the letter inside. “Your first scheduled meeting with your advisor is at 3pm today. Please arrive promptly.”

Dean checked his watch. It was only 10am, so he had some time to kill. Not that he had anything to do, but it gave him some time to get his emotions in check before he was expected to have a meeting with someone.

It had been unexpected, that’s all. Seeing the alpha here, though it shouldn’t have been a surprise. But a Milton! The Miltons were . . . well, he was a really fucking big deal, anyway. Shit, a fucking _Milton_ . . .

Dean managed to scrape himself up from the bench and trudge back to his dormitory, where he flipped through his meagre wardrobe. The letter had instructed him to dress his best, fully presentable, in order to meet his advisor. Dean didn’t know jack shit about how this worked, but he was pretty sure an advisor was supposed to help him with his academic track. At least, that’s what Sam had said about alpha universities.

“Hey, uh, Kevin?” Dean asked. Kevin looked up from his book.

“Yeah?”

“So, what are our advisors for? I thought the classes were, like, pre-decided and stuff. What do they advise us on?”

Kevin gave him that look again, the one that said Dean was incredibly dense. The one that said Kevin had no idea what Dean was doing here if he didn’t know anything about it. Dean kind of agreed with him.

“They’re more like, mentors, I guess. My mom used to call it ‘grooming,’ and not in the mates kind of way.” Dean gave him a blank look, so Kevin sighed and continued. “They’re supposed to help us make the best impressions. Correct our behavior. They’re who we get called to when we misbehave, that sort of thing.”

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. Kevin raised an eyebrow.

“Did you not know _anything_ about this place? How are you even here?”

_I made a huge mistake and ended up fucking promised_ , Dean thought. He shrugged. “I dunno, man. For my brother.” For the first time, Dean looked up at Kevin and wondered the same thing. “What about you?”

Kevin scoffed, a sarcastic, bitter sound. “I was supposed to be the first Asian-American president. Mom always thought I’d be a beta, since she and my dad both were. Shocked the hell out of everybody when I presented. So, instead of Harvard, I got this place instead. Only the best, you know?”

“They let betas into Harvard?” Dean asked. Kevin smiled, for real this time.

“I wasn’t gonna let them turn me down,” he said.

Pain shot through Dean’s heart as he watched the kid. He reminded Dean strongly of Sam; they were of an age, and would probably be best freakin’ friends if they ever met. Too fucking bad Kevin had presented omega. Kid was smarter than any alpha Dean had ever met. Including Sammy.

In the end, Dean didn’t change before his meeting. If this advisor was supposed to help him, then he had to see what he was working with. So, Dean stomped across campus in his jeans, boots, and flannel, and anybody who stared could fuck off.

He knocked on the office door five minutes early, and was greeted with silence. Dean checked his watch, waited another minute or two, then knocked again.

“Come in,” came the slimy voice from behind the door. Dean opened it, poking his head around cautiously.

“Fergus Crowley?” Dean asked.

“Dean Winchester?” Crowley mocked. “Of course I am, idiot. Get in here and sit down.”

Dean walked into the office, hesitating on whether he should close the door behind him. Crowley looked at him with disdain.

“Open door policy on mixed secondary genders without a chaperone, you nitwit,” Crowley said. He rolled his eyes. “God, I’ve got another one who didn’t even bother to read the handbook.”

Dean blushed. He’d been trying to avoid thinking about the school too much, so yeah, he hadn’t read the handbook. He wasn’t going to let this asshole know that, though. He didn’t say anything as he moved to sit down, but stopped when Crowley put up a hand to stop him. Crowley gave him a long, appraising look, bordering on uncomfortable. Dean fidgeted a little, feeling like he was drowning in his blockers again. After a few moments, Crowley nodded and gestured to the chair again.

“First off, your wardrobe is hideous and needs to be burned. You’ll have to get everything new and have it all tailored. I’ll send you to my son, he’s taken over the business since I’ve moved here full-time. Gavin knows the Vinehall fit and cut like the back of his hand. Second, you have _atrocious_ social habits. If I didn’t know your history, I’d be completely offended by your manners. Do you really make eye contact with everyone? Ridiculous. And third, do _not_ drown yourself in blockers again. You’re making me want to vomit and you’re across the room. Are there any questions?”

Dean had a million, but couldn’t quite process the entire speech. “I, uh. I don’t have any money for clothes . . .” he said sheepishly. Crowley waved a hand.

“Your benefactor has it covered. You’ll charge everything to an account for him. Here,” Crowley said, handing a crisp manila envelope across the desk. “All of the information you need about where to go is in there. Anything else?”

Dean took the envelope, trying to get his brain to catch up. “Uh, yeah, I think . . . maybe. Um . . .”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “If you think of something, you have my email address. Now, wipe that idiotic look off of your face and _get the hell out of my office_.”

Dean rose and moved toward the door, then paused. “Wait . . . do you . . . you said . . . my benefactor?” Crowley grunted. Dean swallowed hard. “Do you . . . do you know why I’m here?”

Crowley didn’t say anything, simply looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. The air rapidly fled the room.

Dean left, nearly tripping over his feet. The whole meeting had taken less than fifteen minutes, but Dean was reeling.

He couldn’t do this. Accepting admittance was one thing, but changing everything about himself? And how much could he owe this alpha? Shit, he was in so deep.

Before a panic attack could seize him, Dean rushed back to his dorm and threw the door open. “Kev, get decent. We’re going _shopping_.”

 

 

 

It took them twenty minutes to figure out that the school had a car service they were expected to use if they ever ventured off campus. It actually turned out that Kevin had an inside connection with the beta security company that kept a close eye on the omegas at the school at all times and managed to get permission for the two of them to leave with a beta from the community. They just had to sign out at the gate with the time they expected to arrive back.

“’Sup, bitches?” came the greeting from the beat-up yellow car as it pulled up to the gate. Driving it was a sunny, redheaded beta girl, who was grinning at Kevin. “Yo, Kev, you bust out?”

“Har har,” Kevin said, swinging open a door. “Charlie, this is Dean, my roommate. Dean, this is Charlie. We met in an online fan forum last year.”

It turned out that Charlie was a little older than Kevin, closer to Dean’s age of twenty-three, and a computer science nerd working for the local branch of Roman Industries. Her connection to the alpha on Vinehall’s board of directors was what had gotten Kevin permission to use her has a driver. Dean pulled out the list of approved places, and Charlie steered them to a boutique on the main street of the small town near Vinehall.

The inside of the store was a violent explosion of pastels. There were two sections, a large one dedicated to female omegas, and a smaller section toward the front of the store geared toward males. Dean browsed the racks feeling more uncomfortable than he had since he moved to the school. He’d always maintained his identity through his clothes. The boots were practical, broken in, and helped him feel powerful. His jeans were well-maintained, though a bit worn. The collection of concert tees and flannels from second-hand stores had hidden his body from prying eyes. It was easier to blend in as a beta if strangers couldn’t see the thin flare of his waist and round swell of his ass. Even though he’d worked out, and done physical labor enough to develop upper body muscle tone on his naturally broad shoulders, he knew that his body still carried those tell-tale traits of omega breeders.

Charlie laughed, rushing through the racks and grabbing frilly skirts and blouses to try, clearly enjoying the levity of the trip, while Kevin thumbed through the racks of polo shirts and khakis. Dean saw him eyeing a pale blue cashmere sweater with something like longing, and pounced.

“Hey, you want that?” Dean asked, making Kevin jump. He shrugged.

“I can’t afford it,” Kevin said. His own wardrobe was more traditionally “omega” than Dean’s, but it still had wear and tear, and wasn’t made of the high-quality materials found in this shop. Dean shrugged back.

“Hey, man, anything you want, my treat. We’ll just put it on a tab.”

Seeing how cautiously happy it made Kevin, Dean gathered up armfuls of similar sweaters, some khakis, a couple of pale-colored button-ups, and a blazer or two and followed Charlie to the dressing rooms.

Charlie let her phone play through an upbeat playlist while they tried on outfits for each other. Dean tried hard not to look at himself in the mirror, but he couldn’t help getting glances as he walked by. Charlie kept looking at his ass. Dean asked her to stop.

“Hey, no worries. Total lesbian here; only beta and omega ladies for me.”

After that, Dean was more comfortable with her appraisal as he went through several pairs of pants and a couple of shirts. They selected a few things, and made their way to the counter to check out. Dean handed across the account number from the envelope, and the cashier barely concealed a look of shock when she saw the numbers.

“Um, everything okay?” Dean asked. She nodded.

“Oh, yes, sir, of course. Your alpha has everything taken care of.”

Dean watched Charlie and Kevin’s gazes turn immediately to the base of his neck, noting the glaring absence of a bite. He shifted uncomfortably.

“He’s not . . . I mean . . .”

The cashier ignored him, processing the transaction, then smiling at them brilliantly. “I hope you and your friends visit us again soon, sir!” she said, inclining her head toward Dean almost in a bow. Dean nodded back at her awkwardly.

“Yeah, sure, okay,” he stammered, and Charlie had to steer him toward the door.

“What the hell was that about?” demanded Kevin once they were back in the car headed toward the school. Dean shook his head.

“I can’t talk about it, man,” Dean said. “It’s, uh, kind of a . . . well, it’s a secret.”

Kevin stared at him for a minute, then said. “Are you or are you not mated to the mafia?”

Dean couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, loud and long, and laughed almost the rest of the way to the school.

“No way!” he finally managed, while Charlie and Kevin laughed along with him. “It’s really not that interesting, dude.”

They said their goodbyes to Charlie and went back to their room with their new purchases. Kevin smoothed his new cashmere sweater reverently, then folded it and put it away. Dean tried to look at his purchases with the same sense of wonder.

He couldn’t help it. They looked like chains.

 

 

 

Classes started the following Monday. Dean got up, showered early, and managed to apply an appropriate amount of blockers. He slid on the silky underwear he’d had to buy in order to fit into his new khakis, which hugged the small swell of his ass with soft, fitted cotton. The pants were a little long; he might have to visit Crowley’s son soon to tailor the length. He fastened a hand-crafted black leather belt through the loops of his pants and secured them with the silver buckle. He slipped a soft, peach-colored sweater on where it felt like a cloud against his skin. He’d shaved the hair on his arms and chest, so the fabric didn’t catch on anything underneath. His favorite purchase, hand-tooled black leather loafers, cradled his feet in a way that reminded him of his boots. Finally, he brushed a little product through his hair, parting it on the side. With a deep breath, he turned to look at himself in the mirror.

A stranger looked back. His freckles stood out against his skin that looked almost creamier, somewhow; the peach undertones brought out by the peach of his sweater. His eyes were sharply green and sparkled beneath long lashes. The sweater was fitted enough to show off the definition of his shoulders, but also reveal how it nipped in at his narrow waist. He looked every inch a Vinehall Omega.

Classes passed quickly, though Dean was completely floored by the subjects he was studying. There were practical things like Home Finances and Economics, but also Etiquette and Protocol. It was slowly starting to settle that he would be expected to fit into a world he’d never imagined himself part of before. Once he graduated, he would belong to someone who lived this life.

The quad was busier than the first day he’d ventured here, after his panic attack in the auditorium. He wandered to his bench out of habit, enjoying the weather. It was a different experience, clothed in the armor of the school around him. No one even glanced at him as he moved toward the bench, only to find it occupied.

A young man with dark hair was bent nearly double over a notebook, scribbling furiously into it. He was dressed nicely, though the quality if his clothing was obviously not the same as the rest of the omegas around him. As Dean approached, he scented the air subtly and was surprised when he didn’t get a whiff of the school-official violet scent. So, not a student, then? Maybe a beta assistant? When he was close enough, Dean cleared his throat lightly, and the man startled, looking up at Dean quickly.

His eyes were deeply, impossibly blue, and they took Dean’s breath away.

“Can I help you?” came the voice, deeper, rougher than any omega could possibly have, shattering any of Dean’s suspicions that he was a student here. He was lovely, whoever this was, with his wide, plush lips and enormous impossible eyes. Dean blinked, recovered, then pulled up the façade he’d begun to cultivate.

“You’re sitting in my seat,” Dean said haughtily, softening his tone to suit omegas. It was the blue-eyed man’s turn to blink in confusion. His brow pinched together and he tilted his head ever so slightly.

“I didn’t know there was ownership on benches in the quad,” he replied, though he gathered his notebook up. Dean noticed a stack of flyers next to him.

“What are the flyers for?” he asked. Blue-eyes glanced down, as though he’d forgotten, then handed one in Dean’s direction.

“I’m conducting interviews,” blue-eyes replied. “Please, consider—”

“Castiel!”

Blue-eyes—Castiel?—startled again, turning toward another stranger, this one clearly a beta (her soft natural scent wafted through the violets, a breath of fresh air that had Dean’s nose unconsciously seeking more). She stormed toward him with purpose, putting Dean back on his heels a little. She turned her gaze to Dean briefly, then ignored him.

“I need your assistance in the lab, Cas. Quickly,” she added. Cas nodded, turning slightly toward Dean.

“It seems you have your bench, sir,” Castiel said curtly, before walking away after his beta friend.

Dean sat on the bench, watching the two of them walk away. His nose was getting sharper every day he was off his suppressants, but he couldn’t get any kind of reading off of Castiel. There was a tang of scent neutralizers left behind, the same lemony scent that used to permeate the lobby at Bobby’s shop, so he was clearly blocking, but there wasn’t any hint of . . . anything underneath. A coil of inexplicable disappointment curled through Dean’s stomach as Castiel moved off into the distance.

But there was also triumph: Castiel and his friend had believed him. He had managed to pass as a Vinehall Omega for the first time. He was blending in like he belonged. For a moment, Dean was proud.

He tried not to think about what any of that meant for his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Sorry for the delay; the holidays crept up on me! I hope to have another update out this Thursday. I've updated the tags, too, to include one or two more things! Thank you so much for all of your comments and kudos!! If I don't get to reply, it doesn't mean I'm not grateful! I love everything you all have to say and it makes me very proud to know you're enjoying my work. You're all awesome!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Thank you all for sticking with me. <3

_Very little has changed for the omega in the United States since the 1950s. In 1952 the Protection and Elevation of Omegas Act made it illegal to forcibly rape and mate an omega against their will, but in many ways, legally, omegas are still considered property. An omega is typically transferred from the alpha guardianship of their birth family and into the guardianship of a mate an average of four-to-six years following presentation and their first heat. The only exceptions to this average are those of omegas of advanced social and educational situation, i.e., a young omega who attends an academy._

_These so-called “finishing schools,” of which Vinehall is the oldest, were established as a place for omegas to be trained and mature before becoming the companions of well-to-do alphas. When it became clear that mating omegas at a young age was adverse to their health and production of pups, these became ways to “preserve” omegas until mating was deemed appropriate. In ninety-five percent of cases, omegas who attend such schools are already “promised” to individual alphas or specific alpha families._

_This is considered preferable to the fate of omegas of lower socio-economic standing, who are often cited as emotional and financial burdens to their families and mated off at the earliest opportunity._

Cas pushed himself away from his laptop and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He would have to dig into his references to attribute his sources later. The cursor blinked at him from the page as the words blurred together. Cas carefully saved and closed the literature review before shutting down his laptop. The “research lab” that he and Hannah had put together was silent, as it had been every day for the last two weeks. He and Hannah had been handing out flyers throughout campus, attempting to speak to the students, but so far no one had come in to participate. He had expected some initial reticence, but at this rate he wouldn’t be able to collect enough material for his thesis.

It had also been two weeks since he’d seen the beautiful green-eyed omega on the quad. Castiel hadn’t gotten the chance to venture back to that particular bench, but whenever he thought about possibly running into the omega again his mouth went dry. The suppressants in Cas’s system kept him from being able to process pheromones properly, and the omega had been covered in the official Vinehall blockers, so Cas had no idea how he smelled. But his eyes had been such a lovely, soft green, and he’d been simply _beautiful_ in the pale colors that made up the Vinehall uniform.

A shrill ringing sounded from across the room, startling Castiel from his reverie. He’d forgotten about his cell phone. He strode across the room and answered almost without thinking.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Castiel.”

Castiel tensed. “Hello, Dr. Milton.”

“I’ve called for a progress report.”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course she had. “I should have a draft of my literature review to you by the weekend. I’ve discovered a few more articles that I’ll need to add upon revision—”

“And your interviews?”

He hated the tone of skepticism in her voice. He imagined the arched brow that accompanied it. “We’ve had . . . a difficult start.”

“How many subjects have you managed to procure?”

Castiel hesitated. “None yet.”

Naomi sighed deeply. “Castiel, I warned you about this. Omegas with proper breeding are different. They are private. It is unseemly for them to reveal the kinds of secrets you wish to encourage them to reveal.”

“No one should be afraid to talk about their lives,” Castiel said evenly. He could hear Naomi’s frown.

“I understand your upbringing was . . . unconventional, Castiel. However, you need to understand that you are likely to not receive a single interview subject in your entire time there. I want to know that you are amenable to coming back and choosing a new topic if this falls through.”

Castiel chewed his lip. “My work is important,” he said.

“I’m not talking about this strange vendetta you seem to have. I’m talking about your career and your future. Come home, Castiel.”

“I have until December,” Castiel said. “I’ll get what I need. And I will send you my literature review by Saturday.”

“Have you spoken to your brother?”

He ended the call without a reply. He would have to screen his calls more carefully from now on.

“You would not believe the looks I’m getting in this town. You would think they’d never seen a beta female before,” Hannah said as she pushed through the door, brown paper bags in hand. “I have lunch.”

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” Hannah narrowed her eyes at him.

“You have to eat. Is it the suppressants?”

Cas shrugged. It was as good an excuse as any. “I suppose. Put mine in the refrigerator; I’ll warm it up when I get hungry later.”

Hannah’s gaze had drifted down to where he spun the cell phone in his hand. “Did you call someone?”

“Naomi called.”

Hannah glared. “Did you tell her we haven’t interviewed anyone?”

“She wasn’t happy about it.”

When she was angry, Hannah had a frown to rival Naomi’s. Cas let her seethe while he gathered some fliers up again.

“I’m going to recruit,” he said. He avoided Hannah’s gaze as she sat at her desk and began to pull her lunch from its bag.

“Do you think we’d have more luck if we told them more about you? Let them know about who you are?”

“No.”

He wasn’t going to have this argument with her again, so he simply took his things and left her to her lunch.

The quad was busy again, since it was the lunch hour, so Cas went from group to group, trying to convince the students that he was conducting a legitimate study, and that their identities would be completely secret.

“I’m promised to an executive at Roman Industries,” said a particularly bold female omega while her friends stared at her, scandalized. “If you don’t think they can figure out a simple code and find out what I said, you’re an idiot.”

To be fair, that was the most Cas had gotten from any of the omegas since he started passing out his flyers, so he had a bizarre urge to thank her for her input. But again, he struck out with every one he approached. Some were polite, taking a flyer and nodding, omega gentility not allowing them to refuse him. It would have been worse if they’d been able to sense he were an alpha. That was another reason why he hadn’t objected to Adler’s suppressant requirement. Data retrieved from omega participants by an alpha researcher had been called into question before.

“You still handing those things out?”

The voice caught Cas off guard. He’d somehow wandered to the bench while his mind drifted, and sitting there in a lavender-and-pale blue plaid button-up and a light grey sweater vest was the green eyed omega.

“Um . . .” Cas managed, aware that he’d been asked a question, at least. Green-eyes laughed lightly, showing perfectly straight, white teeth.

“Very eloquent, alpha.” Cas jumped, nearly dropping the stack of flyers in his hands.

“How . . . wh—how did you . . .?”

“Whoa, calm down, buddy,” said the omega, concern marring his perfect features for a moment. A hand reached toward Cas, then snapped back as though shocked. “It ain’t— _isn’t_ obvious, if you’re worried.”

Cas crouched down to gather his flyers. “I’m still not sure what you mean . . .” he said weakly. “It’s not a secret,” he insisted, “I’m just . . . I’m on suppressants, and blockers, and there shouldn’t be any way . . .”

“Well,” said the omega, handing a stack of papers to Cas as he stood, “that’s what gave it away. You’re not an omega, no way, since you aren’t wearing the school scent. And I can’t get a single read off you, so that rules out beta, since I’d be able to scent you even under all this.” He gestured around himself, at the school at large and its very distinctive aroma. “So, process of elimination: alpha.”

Cas suppressed a shudder at the omega calling him that, even indirectly. He was grateful to the suppressants doing their job, since he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out how he would react if he wasn’t on them.

“I’m, um, Castiel. Novak. I’m conducting a project for my thesis in Omega Studies. It’s an interview, just some simple questions to find out more about you and let you tell your story.”

The omega stared back at him. “Wow, I’m sure you’ve gotten a lot of people to say yes to you with a sales pitch like that.”

Cas blushed. “Um, no, not really.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Cas’s mouth fell open, and the omega looked like he had shocked himself. “I, uh . . .” he stammered.

“Let me interview you,” blurted Cas. His blush deepened. “Please,” he added.

The omega chewed on his bottom lip, pulling the plump flesh into his teeth and letting it go, pink and shiny. Cas tried very hard not to think about doing the same to it himself, leaving those plush lips kiss bruised.

He failed.

“Look,” said the omega, taking a cautious step closer. “I’m not . . . I’m, uh, _promised_ , y’know, and I don’t want . . .”

“It’s all completely confidential,” said Cas quickly. “No identifying traces will be left. Your story will be yours, of course, but it will be presented in a manner that covers any way for anyone to trace it back to you. I can explain my methodology at the lab, if you’d like.”

“Um, not today,” said the omega. Cas’s hopes fell. “But, maybe, Friday?” Cas perked up.

“Yes! Friday! Absolutely! Um, here, take a flyer, it has the information on it. I can meet you at the lab, should we say, at one? Are you free then?”

“I only have a class that morning, so one should be okay.”

“Perfect! Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“Yeah, sure, okay.”

With that, the omega turned to leave, but Cas called out, “What is your name?”

The omega turned and walked backward a few steps. “Dean,” he said. “Dean Winchester.”

 _Dean Winchester_.

The warmth suffusing Cas’s entire body as he rushed back to the lab made it easy to miss the tiny tendril of _something_ that curled its way behind his ribs and lodged firmly in his chest. _Dean_.

 

 

Castiel was typing away on his laptop in his bungalow Thursday night, trying to organize the questions he would ask Dean the next day, when his cell phone rang again. He made sure to check the caller ID this time, but it was an unknown number with a strange area code. But, it wasn’t California, so he was sure it wasn’t Naomi. Cautiously, he answered.

“Hello?” he ventured.

“Yo, baby bro, what’s up?”

Cas’s jaw dropped. “Gabe—Gabriel?!”

“Easy, tiger. Look, I know it’s been a while.”

“A while? Gabriel, it’s been six years.”

“Has it? Wow, time flies when you’re being successful. Any-old-how, how’s my favorite little brother doing?”

“Gabriel, I’m your only little brother.”

“True, true. How are you, anyway?”

“I’m . . . I’m fine. Gabriel, why are you calling me?”

“Can’t a guy get interested in what his little bro’s been up to for six years?”

“Forgive me if I’m highly skeptical.”

“Fine. You got me. A little birdie told me there’s some scent-negative nerd stomping around the Vinehall campus trying to get omegas to spill their dirty little secrets and I thought it sounded like you.”

“That’s . . . a highly inaccurate description.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t stomp. And I hardly want them to spill _secrets_. It’s an ethnographic study of omegas in a certain socioeconomic stratus—”

“Bor- _ring_ ,” Gabriel interrupted. “Look, I just figured you were in my neck of the woods, and wondered if you wanted to do the old reconnect?”

“Why?”

Gabriel laughed. “Well, because I miss you, maybe? And, y’know, I’ve become a pretty successful omega rights lawyer and I think your project might be interesting.”

Cas nearly dropped his phone. “I thought you were doing corporate law,” he managed.

“Turns out I do have a heart. Don’t spread it around.”

Gabriel, it turned out, lived in New York City and could drop by any time Cas wanted. Cas told him that he was pretty busy right now, but would think about it.

By the time they’d gotten off the phone, Cas was feeling strange. His whole life, he’d been the only one in his family that had been even slightly concerned with omegas. He’d spent his whole childhood surrounded by alphas and betas, and a few omegas who knew their “place.” He’d never told anyone why he’d decided to go into Omega Studies, and now his brother had gone that route, too.

He wondered if it was for the same reason.

 

 

“For God’s sake, Castiel, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you don’t stop.”

Cas realized he was pacing, but as the clock inched closer to one, he couldn’t help but feel more and more nervous. What if Dean decided not to come? What if he didn’t want to participate? How was he possibly going to be in a room with him for an hour? Hannah and their assigned beta chaperone, a reedy guy named Garth, would be there, too, of course, but still. This would be his first interview, and he was nervous.

Right at one, there was a polite knock on the door. Cas and Hannah looked at each other, then Garth said cheerily, “I’ll get it.”

Dean was standing there, dressed in another soft cashmere sweater, this one a mossy green that brought out the color in his eyes. Cas tried not to notice the trim cut of his waist, but he couldn’t. If he’d had time, there was no way he could keep the fantasies at bay.

But there was no time. Cas smiled and walked toward Dean. “Welcome,” he said. “Please, come in. Let me introduce you to Hannah Johnson, my research assistant, and this is Garth, he’s been assigned to us as a chaperone for the study.”

“My sister’s an omega,” Garth said, shaking Dean’s hand. “I think this is great.”

Cas cleared his throat. “If you could just follow us into the interview room, Dean.”

He led the way into a comfortable lounge, complete with a couch and several easy chairs. Dean looked around, then settled himself into one of the chairs across from the door. Cas moved into a chair nearby, where he could look directly at Dean, while Hannah sat beside him and Garth sprawled on the couch.

“Okay, Dean, we’re going to begin recording. I’m going to ask you a series of questions and you can answer how you see fit. Please just remember this is about you; these questions are a guide. Let the narrative go where it takes you. Are you ready?”

Dean nodded. Hannah handed him a participant form to sign, which gave them permission to record him, but not permission to use his answers. That form would come at the end once he knew what was recorded. Cas opened his notebook and pressed record on the device on the table between them.

“For our records only, please state your name and designation.” “All right. Dean Winchester, male omega.”

“And you’re a student here at Vinehall, Dean?”

“Yes.”

Cas smiled encouragingly. “It’s okay, Dean. Just ignore the recording device. You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to.”

Dean took a deep breath, then looked marginally less nervous so Cas continued.

“Can you tell us a little bit about your family?”

Dean scrunched his fingers into the nice slacks he wore. “Uh, sure. There’s me, and there’s Sam, and Bobby. He’s my alpha-guardian. Or, I guess he was before I came here.”

“Tell me more about your brother.”

“He’s an alpha. Going to school out west.”

Cas waited for more and when it didn’t come, he prompted, “Anything else?”

“Nope. Next question.”

The air in the room was getting a bit tense. The violet scent radiating from Dean was getting a little thicker as his agitation grew. The blocker was strong, but Dean wasn’t on suppressants like Cas, so it wouldn’t take much for his natural scent to burst through. Garth and Hannah wouldn’t be able to scent it, but even on suppressants Cas’s alpha would have a difficult time staying objective with omega-in-distress in the air. Cas changed tracks.

“Can you tell me a story about growing up as an omega? Something from your childhood, maybe?”

Dean continued to grip his slacks tightly. “I, uh . . . I dunno, I don’t really remember. Can we try something else?”

“Okay, Dean. Maybe tell me more about you? What do you like to do?”

And there, under the violets, the hint of something sweet, almost like honey, tinged with something bitter. Dean was distressed.

“I’m sorry, man, this was a terrible idea,” Dean said.

“That’s okay, Dean. Is there anything you want to share at all?”

Dean stared fixedly at the floor, squeezing his hands into fists, the fabric of his slacks bunching. “Um . . . maybe . . . shit, I’m . . . shit, I’m sorry, Cas.”

With that, Dean stood up and bolted, leaving a trail of thick honey-and-leather-and- _distress_ behind him as he went. Cas stomped on his inner alpha trying valiantly to rouse itself from the haze of suppressants to follow after him. Hannah stood and turned off the recorder.

“That didn’t go very well, did it?” said Garth cheerfully. Hannah turned to glare at Castiel.

“Thank you, Garth, I don’t think we’ll be needing you further today,” Castiel said, gathering his notes and moving quickly from the faint trail of pheromones left behind in the room.

Garth left, but Hannah followed Cas around as he tried to look busy.

“Well, that was a perfect first subject,” Hannah said, even though Castiel wouldn’t look at her. “Do you think maybe you could have found someone who would have _really_ been a disaster? What were you thinking, Castiel?”

“Yes, I’m sabotaging this project on purpose.”

“Perhaps you are!” Castiel looked up at her, finally, and she threw her hands up. “You aren’t the only one risking everything to come here.”

She left after that, leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts. He tried to focus on the project, on the setback, but all he could think about was the distress in the hint of Dean’s real scent that he’d caught as the omega fled.

 

 

 

On Monday at eleven, Castiel went into the lab as usual, hoping to get some paperwork done. His disastrous first interview with Dean had to be documented, and transcribed, even if he wouldn’t be able to use any of it. Transcription was tedious, so Castiel tried to keep up with it as he went rather than letting it all pile up at the end. Hannah was really better at it, but he wasn’t sure that she would be in today, and he wouldn’t force such a futile task on her.

He went to unlock the office, but he found it was already open. Hannah was sitting at her desk, headphones in, clearly working on transcribing. He moved toward her desk, but she stopped him, gesturing instead to the interview lounge.

Two unfamiliar omegas were sitting in the chairs: an Asian-American male with untidy hair and baggy pants, and a lovely, prim, freckled brunette. Garth was in his spot on the couch.

“Oh, heya, Castiel,” Garth said. “Hannah came in this morning and these two were waiting on you. She called me over ‘cause they said they were here for interviews.”

Castiel looked back at the two omegas, trying to recover from his shock. “Oh, of course. Well, if one of you wouldn’t mind waiting, we can only do this one at a time. Perhaps if you could go take care of paperwork with Hannah?”

“Already done,” said the male. “And I’m cool with waiting, if you want to go first?” he added, deferring to the female.

“Oh, no, I’ll go study,” she said. “I have an Art History exam later this week.”

The male omega was named Kevin Tran, and his interview went fairly smoothly. Castiel got him talking about his mother, which took up much of the hour. She’d raised him as a beta, so there were quite a few stories he could tell about his childhood before he presented. Castiel felt a pang of pity that he had to hide when Kevin’s scent dropped low with sadness as he spoke about his dashed hopes of Harvard (or Princeton, if Harvard was out). In the end, Castiel scheduled another interview time and thanked him.

The female was named Sarah Blake, and she was from a prominent New England family. She’d been raised her whole life to believe in the concept of the omega companion, and when she presented the family had been thrilled. She didn’t have any siblings, so her connection through companionship and eventual mating would be their hope to carry on the family legacy. She was studying art and art history, since that was her family’s business, but she knew she would be unlikely to use it. Castiel found himself drawn into friendly debates with her on the merits of certain artists and art in the home, and he had to stop lest the interview material become unusable. When the interview concluded, she surprised Castiel by shaking his hand.

“Dean was right,” she said, then winked and left.

“What was that about?” Hannah asked, watching her walk out of the door. Cas stared after her.

“I think . . . I’m not sure,” he said.

Energized by the progress, he fired off an email to Naomi to let her know, and pulled up his personal journal. He’d taken to jotting down notes he didn’t want to document in the personal journal to keep it separate when it came to data analysis. Today, he simply put in one sentence:

 

_Thank you, Dean Winchester._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is NSFW!**
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> You're all amazing! If I don't reply to your comment, the default answer is, "Thank you!" I'm so excited to share this chapter with you!
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> A general warning that omegas are thought of and treated as property. Sometimes it's not pretty, and we're into the part of the story where this becomes apparent. These are mostly issues that *will* be addressed in the narrative. If you have questions, please let me know!
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> Additional warnings at the end of the chapter.

The pit of dread in Dean’s stomach grew heavier as he walked down the marble-floored hallway of the administration building. The fucking thing was built like a palace: vaulted ceilings, gold leaf accents, gleaming marble, the whole nine. They also kept the thing like a walk-in freezer. The temperature was cold enough to hang meat. Dean wrapped his arms around himself in his stupid cashmere sweater to stop shivering.

Adler’s office was easy to find. The entrance was a set of ornate oak doors with a placard declaring “President’s Office” in gold letters. Dean took a deep breath and knocked. The right door opened a crack with a soft _click_. He pushed it open and walked inside where a perky omega secretary sat ready to greet him.

“Hello,” she said, smiling brightly at him. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Um, yeah,” Dean replied. She quirked an eyebrow. “ _Yes_ ,” Dean corrected through clenched teeth. “I’m Dean. Winchester.”

She looked at something on one of the three computer screens in front of her, then nodded. “You may have a seat, Mr. Winchester. President Adler will be with you shortly.”

Dean took a seat in a very cushy upholstered chair to wait. The giant, ugly clock on the wall showed that he was ten minutes early. That was good. He’d had to run from his etiquette class to get here and it would have been ironic if he’d been late.

He tried to remember everything he’d learned about the proper way to greet alphas of a higher social ranking than you. _No eye contact unless they ask, soft voice, gentle hands. Shit, am I supposed to shake hands or not? Probably “only if directed,”_ Dean thought bitterly. He’d worn the jade green sweater today and practically bathed in the blockers. Hopefully any alphas involved in this meeting would be distracted by his _pretty eyes_ and unable to scent any changes in emotion in his natural scent.

Speaking of, the smell of something absolutely _disgusting_ was wafting from under the inner office door. It was sharp and thick, like stale, warm beer. It was hard not to gag, and Dean knew that it would be overwhelming when the door opened.

Sure enough, the ugly-ass clocked chimed three and the door opened to let the old yeast smell spill into the outer office. Mr. Adler poked his balding, shiny face around the corner.

“Dean!” he said enthusiastically. “Come on in. Got someone you should meet!”

Dean rose and cautiously walked into the office. Adler’s scent was overwhelming, but Dean had dealt with worse. The few times during his youth that he’d forgotten to take his suppressants exactly on time and had to deal with sweaty, older alphas crowding him against the walls in public restrooms and telling him how delicious he smelled came to mind.

No, what stopped Dean in his tracks was the alpha standing next to Adler.

“Dean, this is Michael Milton, one of our board members!” Adler said, clapping Milton on the shoulder.

Dean stared for just a few seconds, long enough for Milton to raise an eyebrow, before immediately dropping his gaze to the floor. “Hello, sir,” Dean said, trying to make his voice as meek as possible. Damn, he hadn’t practiced this enough.

Milton didn’t seem to mind, though. “Hello, Dean,” he said, his voice rich and smooth. The sheer amount of _power_ he exuded was frightening. Dean could feel his inner omega reacting, a new feeling since his suppressants were finally working their way out of his system. There was a tiny, primitive part of him that knew this alpha would be a strong protector, but could also rip his throat out at the least provocation.

“Mr. Milton here wanted to meet you, Dean,” Adler said, significance in his tone. Dean nodded slightly. “Well, he’s all yours Mike. I’m just going to step out for a minute. The door will be open, of course. My secretary can hear everything, so don’t go getting any ideas!”

Dean tried not to panic as Adler left the room. The problem was, taking any deep breaths meant breathing in Adler’s stench, and Dean didn’t think he was strong enough for that. He focused on calming his heart rate.

“You’re nervous,” Milton said, closer than Dean remembered. He tapped two fingers under Dean’s chin, causing him to look up sharply and make eye contact. Milton hissed slowly. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”

Dean shivered, hoping Milton would chalk it up to pleasure at the praise, or the temperature, which was still freezing even in this office.

“You look wonderful here, Dean. This suits you. Far better than the dusty hellhole I pulled you from. Looking at you now . . . no one could possibly imagine you as a grease monkey, up to your elbows in car parts. Even your hands are softening now.”

Thankfully, Milton refrained from touching Dean further, but he did lean in ever so slightly, scenting him. “You’ve been heavy-handed with the blockers. I’m disappointed. Try to be less . . . liberal, next time?”

“N-next time?” Dean asked, mouth suddenly dry. Milton chuckled softly.

“I have to check in on my investments, Dean. I’ll be here regularly, watching your progress. And we’ll need to get to know each other, won’t we? If you’re going to be my companion?”

Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Of course.”

“So, let’s get to know each other, shall we? You can sit.”

Milton went to sit in Adler’s chair, so Dean took a seat across the desk from him. The longer the two were in the office alone, the more Milton’s own scent started to take over. It was musky, full of testosterone, indicating a strong alpha just like his voice. There were hints of something woodsy, like juniper, the cool notes pushing through the warmth of Adler’s scent. Dean tried not to sniff deliberately at it, but it was definitely preferable to Adler’s.

Still terrifying, but preferable.

“How old are you, Dean?” Milton asked.

“Twenty-three,” he said. “Didn’t you read up on me or something?”

“I did. But I’d like to hear it from you. I’m glad you didn’t lie to me. So many omegas lie about their age, it’s sad, really. Many omegas age like fine wine. I’m sure that will be you.”

Dean wasn’t sure what to say to that, but Milton continued.

“What do you do for fun?”

“Um . . . I read, mostly.” And fix cars, but since that’s what got him into this whole mess, Dean left it out. Milton made a face.

“I’ll send you appropriate books. You won’t find anything inappropriate at Vinehall, but I’ve heard you’re venturing out on the town now.” Dean started, but of course Milton knew. He’d paid for Dean’s new clothes. “You do look lovely in the sweater I bought you. Would you like more?”

Dean shook his head. “No, sir. I have what I need.”

“If you ever do need anything, let me know.” He leaned against the desk and looked Dean in the eye. “I take good care of my things, Dean. When you graduate, you’re going to be my companion. You belong to me. One day, if things work out the way I’d like, you’ll wear my bite and my grandmother’s ring.”

Dean paled. “You . . . you mean . . . mating?” Milton smiled.

“I’m going to give you the world, Dean. And take care of your brother’s education and your alpha-guardian’s debts. Just make sure you’re a good boy and become the omega I know you were born to be.”

 

 

 

Dean still couldn’t shake the chill that had settled over him in the administration building. Maybe it was the fist of ice that had clenched around his intestines while meeting with Milton. He’d made his way back to his dorm room in a daze.

Kevin and his beta friend Charlie had been set up in the common area with video games and more junk food than Dean had seen since he got to Vinehall. Apparently, Charlie had brought in the contraband.

“Wanna join?” Charlie asked brightly from the floor. Dean shook his head, cold panic trickling down his spine.

“No, and you can’t be here. We’re only allowed to have authorized guests.”

“Whoa, hey, she’s my guest,” Kevin said.

“Did she sign in?”

“Um, no.”

“Then she’s gotta leave. C’mon, Kev, you know the rules.”

He stormed toward his room without looking back.

“Dude, what is your problem?” Kevin demanded.

“She needs to get out, now!” Dean snapped. “I ain’t risking shit so you can play video games. You risk your own ass, but keep mine out of it.”

He went into his room and slammed the door behind him, taking deep breaths. Something sickly and bitter tickled his nose. Great, now the blockers were wearing off and he could scent his own anger and panic coming off of him in waves. He tried to take deep breaths to calm himself, but he couldn’t get Milton’s cold gaze out of his head. Before he made a conscious decision, he was in front of his laptop with his Skype app open.

He needed to check in with Sam, just to touch base. To reassure himself that Sam was okay.

It was noon in California, so Sam was done with his morning classes, which was why he managed to pick up. He was clearly using his phone for the call, since he was in a very shaky frame.

“Dean!” he said, grinning. “What’s up?”

Dean couldn’t help smiling. “Not much, Samsquatch. How’s Stanford?”

“It’s good! It’s, uh, really tough, but it’s good!”

“Meet any cute girls yet?” Dean teased. Sam laughed.

“It’s an _alpha_ university, Dean.”

“So? It’s college! Isn’t that the time to experiment?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever, you’re such a perv.”

“Takes one to know one, bitch.”

Sam laughed again. God, it was good to hear him laugh. “Okay, jerk.”

“Hey, Sammy.”

Sam managed to turn his whole attention to the phone, matching Dean’s serious tone. “Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you.”

Dean worked hard not to think about how this was all happening. His life, his future, whatever that was, didn’t matter. Sam was safe, and happy, and getting to live his dream. And, hell, Dean could do way worse.

“Love you, Dean,” Sam said.

“Yeah, yeah. Just kick it in the ass, okay? This shit ain’t cheap.”

Sam had to go soon after that, but Dean closed the laptop feeling lighter than he had in a long time. He was able to focus on his homework, and, exhausted by the trying day, went to sleep early. There was still a vice in his guts, but he managed to breathe through it and fall into a fitful sleep.

 

 

 

 _“Fuck, oh, fuck,_ alpha _!”_

 _Dean writhed in his alpha’s lap, his hole stretched wide around the alpha’s knot, dragging at his rim. Everything was on_ fire _, and the only relief came from the place where they were joined. His alpha’s cock was thick and hard, his knot pressing into that spot deep inside him, and Dean jammed himself down onto it in a dirty grind. His alpha growled, grasping hard enough at his hips to bruise._

_Slick oozed out of his hole past the knot, coating Dean’s ass and the back of his thighs. “Knot me, Alpha,” Dean panted, abs burning with effort, grinding his hips hard as the alpha thrust up hard to meet him._

_“Shit, I’m gonna come . . . alpha, please, fucking knot me, please!” Dean begged into the alpha’s shoulder, his orgasm crashing down around him as the knot swelled, locking him in place. Dean’s alpha grunted as Dean felt the warmth of his come pulsing into Dean’s ass._

_“Oh, fuck, Dean,” the alpha sighed, deep voice wrecked. Dean pulled back to kiss him, slow and deep, before resting their foreheads together._

_“My alpha,” Dean breathed, as his alpha opened his eyes to gaze at Dean._

_His alpha’s eyes were vivid blue._

Dean awoke with a start, groaning into his pillow. It took him a minute to take stock, but when he did, he wished he could go back to sleep.

His sheets were soaked. He was covered in a combination of his own slick and sweat and come, and more slick was slowly seeping out of him even as he laid there. His insides burned, the vice-like grip that had developed the night before still twisting his guts, but now instead of ice he was full of fire.

He was in heat.

“Fuuuuck,” Dean groaned, pushing himself up. There were protocols for this, but he couldn’t remember them right now. Heats came in waves, but Dean had been pumping suppressants into his body for so long, there was no telling what this might be like. He needed to get Kevin; the kid would know what to do.

Completely disregarding his current state, he pushed into the common area, where he found Kevin studying at his desk.

“Hey, man, what happened yesterday was— _whoa_!” Kevin choked. “Dude, you’re in heat.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Dean said, his voice rough. “What’s the handbook say about this?”

“Um, okay, so first we gotta get your heat bag.”

“Heat bag?”

“Yeah, man, your go-bag for heats? With clothes and supplies and that sort of stuff?”

Dean shook his head. “Don’t have that,” he said. Kevin stared at him.

“What the hell kind of omega are you?” Kevin deadpanned. “So, um, I think they’ve got some stuff for emergencies. Just . . . grab some clothes and we can head down to the heat rooms, okay?”

Dean picked at the shirt he was wearing. It was beginning to dry and develop a crust. He almost gagged. “Maybe I should shower,” Dean said.

After a quick shower, Dean could feel the heat rising in his guts again. He had to lean on Kevin as they approached their building’s heat rooms. A beta guard took one look at Dean and unlocked the nearest room, showing both omegas inside. Kevin dumped the bag Dean had managed to scrape together on the floor, then high-tailed it back to their room, or anywhere other than there, really. Dean didn’t blame him.

So the heat rooms, as it turned out, were like little luxury hotel rooms. There was a sizeable, comfortable bed covered with supple cotton sheets (easier to launder, Dean assumed) and numerous fluffy pillows. The floor was soft carpet, and there were a couple of squishy chairs. Dean lay down face first in what was, essentially, a nest, and moaned in appreciation. There was something to the stereotype that omegas in heat loved soft things.

The room was carefully scent-neutral, which Dean appreciated, since he seemed to have stolen his sense of smell from a bloodhound something in the night. He could pick up on every nuance, even in what might have been months-old heat scents from other omegas in the fabric and in the carpets. Someone recent smelled like strawberries, and Dean breathed it in, relishing the sweet, light scent.

His insides were starting to feel like molten lava again as he rutted against the soft sheets, slipping a hand into his sweats to grip his rapidly hardening cock. His channel was starting to ache, the feeling of slick beginning to trickle from him making him shiver. All he could think as he absentmindedly stroked his cock was that he regretted not owning an inflatable knot.

He thought back to his dream last night, of the nameless, faceless alpha that had buried himself in Dean to the hilt. The alpha had been firm, perfect, filling him and stretching him. Dean held back a whimper as he imagined it, his hole just starting to burn with need.

The thing was, Dean had never wanted an alpha in his life. When he’d gotten his first heat he’d been too scared to really know what was going on. He’d always fantasized about beautiful women (and sometimes handsome men) without any thought for secondary gender. When his mother had died, Dean had had to take care of Sam. In the end, it should have been obvious how Dean would present, but to be honest, Dean hadn’t really thought about it much at all. Taking care of Sam had been important, and when he’d realized he was going to go into heat every few months, spending almost an entire week locked away and unable to watch over Sam, unable to get a job, unable to support and protect the both of them on his own, he’d known he had to find a way to change it. So Bobby had helped.

So, aside from the overwhelming fear, he barely remembered his first (and up until now, only) heat.

The burning need wasn’t surprising, he thought as his fingers traveled down toward his hole. That was something everyone talked about, and was played up in alpha/omega porn. He didn’t really feel _horny_ , though; orgasm wasn’t the end goal. As he slipped one finger easily into his hole, slick gushed out, covering his fingers. He moaned, trying to carefully explore with one finger first. It had been a while since he’d been on the receiving end of this.

After a few moments, the ache returned, so he pushed a second finger in alongside the second, and he started to edge toward relief.

No, he wasn’t exactly horny. His own orgasm hardly mattered at all. He groaned again as he eased a third finger into himself. His hole fluttered and clenched, searching for a knot.

Orgasm wasn’t the goal. Getting stuffed, knotted, and filled was.

Dean moaned, pressing his face into the bed, searching out that spot within him that would make this—

 _YES!_ “Oh, god . . .” Dean whined, pressing hard against his prostate, fucking himself with four fingers now. It wasn’t enough to fill him, but maybe if he could come . . .

He raised his hips enough to get his free hand wrapped around himself. “Mmm, fuck,” he groaned. He jacked himself a few times, using slick that had run past his balls to ease the way. He was panting, trying to keep his hips up high enough to fuck into his fist and onto his fingers. It was hard to develop a rhythm, but he could feel himself careening closer to the edge.

“Oh, fuck, alpha, need you,” he whispered, not even sure who that meant. He just knew he needed an alpha, badly. “Please, alpha, knot me.”

Flashes of his dream appeared to him then, and with a shock, an image of blue eyes, dark hair, and a voice like gravel. “Alpha!” Dean cried, thick, clear ropes of come painting the bed below him.

He collapsed onto his side (away from the wet spot) with a huff. The burning heat within him had cooled a little, but only to embers. It was going to peak eventually, but for now he was lucid enough between waves to get the room a little more set up.

There was a chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room where he stashed his bag of belongings and settled in to do some reading for class. He was going to miss at least five days of classes, if not more. He might as well study while he could.

 

 

 

“Shit, oh shit, shit, oh, god, _please_!”

It had been four days, and there was no sign of his heat slowing down. Sometime during the third day he’d started to get desperate, tearing the room apart looking for something, anything, to fill him better than his fingers. That was when there had been a knock on his door.

The beta guards had been bringing him food and beverages throughout his heat, usually knocking once to let him know the food was outside. He couldn’t remember if he’d had a meal recently or not, but there was no way he was getting the door at that point.

The knocking had grown more insistent until Dean had stumbled to the door, wrenching it open. The beta took a step back from the crazed omega and the overwhelming heat scent that probably rushed through the open door.

“From your alpha,” was all he’d said. Dean growled at him, taking the brown paper bag and shutting the door in his face.

The bag had contained a high-end silicone knot with an inflatable function. Dean could have cried with relief. In fact, he did sob when the toy first breached him, spreading him wide and slaking some of his need. He hadn’t had time to figure out how to inflate the knot yet, but he came that time with something dick-shaped in his ass and that was enough.

At least, it had been a day ago.

Now, Dean was shoving the silicone cock into his ass as hard as he could, slamming it into his prostate with laser precision. Slick coated his hand, his legs, his junk, the bed, the spot on the floor where he’d tried riding the thing . . . Now, he was on his back, legs up the wall, curling over himself as his fist flew over his cock.

“Alpha, fuck me, knot me, give me your knot!” Dean cried, bucking against the toy as he pressed against the wall with his feet, bending himself nearly in half. He pushed the small button on the base of the toy to inflate the knot, then pressed it hard into himself as he ground against it. He came with a shout, thin, clear liquid hitting his chest and chin. His come had gotten thin and watery over the course of the last few days, which meant smaller wet spots, but his slick had become thicker and there were fucking _tons_ of it. He could probably have filled a bathtub with the liquid he’d been leaking everywhere.

Speaking of, the heat rooms really needed a tub. The small standing shower was not worth it when he knew he was just going to get filthy again in a few minutes.

The burning in his guts had moved to his whole body, and even between waves he writhed and needed . . . something more. The knot helped, but something was missing.

If it didn’t end tomorrow, surely someone would come to check on him?

The next few hours passed in a haze of slick and come, his ass so stretched he could practically pull the knot from his channel without deflating it. He whined as he shifted his hips, circling them so the knot would rub against all of his walls. What kind of alpha did he have that would send him such an inadequate knot? Didn’t his alpha know what he needed? Couldn’t _he_ come instead?

Maybe Dean had been a bad omega. Yes, that must be it. He hadn’t pleased his alpha enough, so now this was punishment.

There was a knock at the door. Dean choked out a sob. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, left wanting by his alpha because he was such a terrible omega. He dragged himself to the door, leaning against it. An awful whine dragged itself from his throat.

“Please, Alpha,” Dean said, running his hand down the door. “I’m sorry, Alpha, I’ll be better.”

“Mr. Winchester, I have something from your alpha.”

Dean perked up, pulling the door open. The beta looked even more shocked and appalled than he had the last time. He held out another brown bag.

“From your alpha.”

Dean took the bag and tore it open. It was a small tube full of gel. Lube? Fuck, he was practically a walking lube _factory_ right now, he didn’t need this shit—

“‘Synthetic alpha pheromone,’” he read off the label. He scrambled to turn the tube over to read the instructions. He pulled the knot from his ass and wiped it clean on the sheet before coating it with the gel from the tube.

The minute he sank the dildo back inside himself, the burning in his channel was instantly quenched. He moaned in relief.

“Thank you, Alpha,” he sighed.

 

 

 

“Congratulations, Mr. Winchester, you are a healthy omega male!”

Dean wanted to punch smarmy Dr. Davies in the face. In fact, ever since his heat finished last night he’s wanted to punch everyone in the face. According to Dr. Dick Davies (okay, so it’s Mick, but Dean thought the nickname suited him better) that’s normal. His hormones are all kinds of out of whack, but should level out. They called it PHDD, or Post Heat Dysphoric Disorder, which was worse than most post-heat symptoms, apparently.

“You should feel better after your next heat or two. You’ve been on suppressants for longer than we recommend.”

Dean glared at him as he was released to return to his dorm room.

He ignored the stares he received on his way back to his building. He’d barely applied any blockers today, and the burnt-sugar scent of his displeasure was probably off-putting. He didn’t care.

Kevin was waiting when he got back to the room. He’d had Dean’s bed stripped and cleaned while he was gone, and offered Dean a sympathetic look.

“Welcome to the club, man,” he said. “Oh, hey, someone dropped this off for you.”

Kevin handed him a small, square package. It was simply addressed, “to Dean, from your Alpha.” Dean shivered, but tore open the wrapping.

Inside a handsome box was an embroidered handkerchief, a monogram, with a large “M” in the middle with a smaller “M” and a “D” flanking it on either side. A traditional first courting gift from an alpha to his omega. Dean struggled to breathe.

“Thanks,” he droned to Kevin.

Dean locked himself in his room. He couldn’t shake the feeling of something crawling under his skin, something he knew was separate from the heat itself.

He knew exactly who had sent the toy and the pheromones, who had sent the handkerchief, who his supposed "alpha" was, and yet he’d come over and over, screaming for him.

Dean needed to eat, and probably catch up on his classes, but instead he wrapped himself in an old hoodie and crawled under the covers. He’d never hated being an omega so much as he did right now. He’d left the toy and the pheromones in the heat room, hoping never to see them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS  
> \- A character uses sexuality and gender as coercion and tools of power. It's skeevy, but nothing physical or graphic. It could make people uncomfortable. (It's the scene with Dean at Adler's office, if you are concerned).  
> \- Dean goes into heat  
> \- Dean experiences a post-heat depression (briefly at the end of the chapter)
> 
> Edited to add: I don't want to spoil anything, but please don't worry about Dean being with anyone other than Cas. He's in a bad situation, but it won't go that far! I might have minimalist tags, but that's definitely something I'd warn about.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! Sorry for the lack of update last week. With the show back on I might have to switch update days, but I still want to do weekly if I can manage it! Thank you all so much for sticking with me!  
> Brief warning: non-graphic description of a character vomiting (Cas is ill)

“Castiel?”

Cas wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed himself back on his knees. “Just a moment,” he called through the bathroom door. His stomach rolled again, but thankfully didn’t bring anything else up. He managed to get to his feet, splashed cold water on his face and disposed of the evidence of his . . . episode. He’d retched up most of breakfast for the last three days, and apparently now his body wasn’t going to keep down anything he ate. He rinsed his mouth and patted everything dry on a towel, then turned to open the door.

Hannah stood in the hallway, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. Cas sighed and pushed past her.

“You were sick again,” she said. Cas rolled his eyes and gathered his things.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, moving around his bungalow to get everything together to depart for the lab. They had another interview with Kevin scheduled for today, and he had said he might bring a friend. That would bring their grand total of participants up to six. Including Dean, which Cas resolutely did, though Hannah did not.

“You’re not ‘fine,’” Hannah bit back. “You’ve been ill for days, and it’s getting worse. It’s the suppressants, isn’t it?”

“You know it is,” Cas replied. “Can we go now?”

Hannah didn’t say anything on the ride to the school, though she was far from quiet. She sighed pointedly at him, sniffing at the way he clenched his fists on the steering wheel when they took a turn. To be fair, he did feel like complete and utter shit; he had headaches most of the time, though the inability to hold down food was new. The suppressants were working, though. He hadn’t been able to scent much in the last week or two; the omegas that came in for interviews simply smelled like that awful blocker the school made them wear. Before, he could catch a hint of pheromones when they were speaking of something particularly emotional or recent, but the last time he’d interviewed Sarah he hadn’t been able to catch any of her scent at all. Hannah’s pleasant, light beta scent was obscured completely, too. It was strange, to say the least. As an alpha he depended on his sense of smell to help navigate social situations, and in such a fraught and unfamiliar place as Vinehall it was putting him at a serious disadvantage.

Hannah said she could hardly scent him, either, though she had a weaker nose. The suppressants and blockers were doing their job.

In the end, he would endure, because this was necessary to complete his task. Dr. Milton had called twice since he’d notified her of their success at getting omegas to interview, and both times she had indicated that she was not satisfied with such a small response. Castiel assured her that he would get more, it would just take time.

“It’s October, Castiel,” she had said. “You only have two more months.”

He didn’t need the reminder.

“You should consider postponing your next dose,” Hannah said as Cas leaned against the car to let a wave of nausea pass.

“You know I can’t. Please stop bringing it up.”

Garth was waiting for them as they opened the lab, grinning as he led a pretty female omega into the office space. She was small, with golden-brown ringlets and a wide, shy smile. After a moment, Kevin came trotting in behind her.

“Hi, guys,” Kevin said. “This is Gilda. I have to go to a meeting with my advisor, but I figured you could interview her first then I’ll come back later when it’s done?”

Cas smiled weakly at the lovely new omega. “It’s nice to meet you, Gilda. Hannah can help you with paperwork, then we can get started.”

“All right,” Gilda said, and Cas couldn’t help but get excited. So far they’d had omegas that weren’t strictly traditional. Kevin and Dean were male, which was rare, and also came from non-traditional backgrounds. Kevin was raised by a single beta mother, firmly middle class, and outspoken. Dean’s past was mysterious, and he certainly wasn’t a typical omega in appearance. Sarah’s family had raised her with upper-class omega expectations, but she was an active part of her father’s art dealership. Gilda could be another chance at a “typical” Vinehall omega to add to their participants.

Hannah finished the paperwork with Gilda and brought her into the interview room. Castiel smiled at her as she took a seat primly on the edge of one of the chairs.

“Please, make yourself comfortable Miss Fay.”

“Oh, Gilda is fine,” she said. “Thank you.”

Castiel set up his digital recorder and pulled out his notebook. “Gilda, what brings you here today?”

Gilda shrugged. “Well, Kevin told me you needed interviews with students here, and I’m a third year, so I will finish soon. You need different perspectives, yes?”

“We do. What perspective would you bring?”

“I’m from a very traditional family, Mr. Novak. I was raised with the belief that omegas are special, cherished, fragile. My grandfather supported the bill that made it illegal for omegas to work outside of the home when he was in Congress. My mother is from an old family that sent all of their omega children here. That is the world from which I come, sir.”

Cas waved a hand. “You don’t have to call me sir, Gilda. Thank you for sharing that with me. Is there anything in particular that stands out about your upbringing?”

For an omega from such a conservative background, Gilda was forthright and open. She redirected the conversation when it veered too closely to topics she clearly didn’t want to discuss, but she gave frank and honest answers. She started to blush, though, when Castiel brought up the subject of mating.

“Many of the omegas here already know who their mates will be,” he said. “Is that true of you?”

Gilda blushed. “You mean, am I ‘promised?’” Cas nodded. “No, I am not. I . . . my family has not designated a mate for me yet.”

“And do you have any hopes for that future?”

Gilda pursed her lips and eyed him shrewdly. “No,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I am a bit tired. Could I schedule another interview, if you need more from me?”

“Of course,” Castiel said, moving to stop his recorder. Hannah was scribbling furiously in her spot in the corner while Garth read a book on his couch. Castiel stood to lead Gilda toward the door. The office was empty; Kevin hadn’t returned from his meeting yet, apparently.

“Thank you very much for your participation, Gilda,” Cas said. “Here is my card. Please call if you’d like to come in again.”

Gilda chewed on her lip, taking the card slowly and watching Castiel with curiosity. “Mr. Novak, what makes an alpha such as yourself pursue this kind of work?” Cas was taken aback and eyed her just as curiously.

“I’m passionate about my work,” he said carefully. They held eye contact for a moment, then Gilda nodded slightly, pocketing his card.

“Thank you,” she said, extending a hand. Castiel shook it, startling at the slight crinkle of paper that passed from her hand to his.

When she left, he examined it. At first he thought she’d passed his own business card back to him, but on further inspection it was a folded note.

_Charlie Bradbury_ , it read, and a phone number. There was nothing else scrawled on the paper in Gilda’s neat handwriting, and Cas had no idea what this would be for.

Before he had long to ponder it, though, Kevin arrived in the office and it was time to get back to work.

 

 

 

 

Castiel lay in his bed that night turning the note over and over in his mind. The clock beside his bed read two in the morning; his headaches and the constant need to vomit kept him awake most of the night. Perhaps Hannah was right and he should postpone his next dose. The doctor wouldn’t notice if he put it off until next week, right? It wasn’t as though he was going to skip it altogether; he would just give it a few days to see if his symptoms would level off.

Gilda’s note gave him pause. Why would she pass him a name and number? Was she trying to play matchmaker? He was an eligible, single alpha from a good family, after all. A number of omegas he’d approached for interviews had mistaken him as a suitor. He had a handful of calling cards Garth had collected from omegas interested in him, rather than the project. On an intellectual level, Castiel understood. The mating game was the only game omegas were allowed to play, and at the level Vinehall omegas were perched, it was difficult to find qualified mates. That remained a major reason why so many were promised before they even attended school.

To that end, the fall social was approaching. He’d encountered several banners advertising it as he walked through campus to deliver more flyers today. It was one of the few opportunities as-yet-unpromised omegas were given to find a potential match. The fall was, according to Sarah, very crowded with young omegas and too few possible matches. In the spring, alphas felt a natural, biological pull toward finding their mates, and so would turn up in more numbers. He made a mental note to get the date put in his calendar so he could avoid campus at all costs on that day.

With suppressants, Cas wouldn’t be a very compatible mate, anyway, but better safe than mauled by desperate omegas.

So, if not a matchmaking scheme, what was the number for? He’d attempted to find “Charlie Bradbury” on social media, but he wasn’t very good at it and he hadn’t gotten any hits. He couldn’t risk asking Hannah, since he was sure that their bungalows were being monitored, and Gilda had gone to lengths to ensure secrecy. So, simply calling the number was out, too. Maybe.

Castiel pushed himself out of bed with a growl of frustration. He wasn’t getting any sleep, anyway. He threw on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt and ventured out on his balcony. He punched the digits into his phone and hit “dial” before he could think about it again.

“Dude, it’s two in the morning,” croaked the voice on the other end of the line.

“My apologies,” Cas said. “I’d forgotten the lateness of the hour.”

“Who is this?” demanded the voice. It was decidedly female, and clearly disgruntled.

“I . . . my name is Castiel Novak. I’m a researcher with—I’m currently conducting a project at Vinehall School, and—”

“Whoa, Cas Novak?! The alpha? Dude, I’ve read, like, all six of your papers in _The Omega Review_. Shit, Gilda told me she gave you my number, but I never thought . . .”

“How do you know Gilda?” Cas asked.

“Um . . . okay, so, I don’t want to come across as paranoid, but can we maybe meet and talk? You’re staying on Vinehall property, and they’ve got, like, mad surveillance skills, so . . .”

“I am free for lunch on Friday.”

“Awesome! I’ll text you the place.”

With that, Castiel had agreed to meet a stranger for no reason that was clear to him at the moment. He hoped he wasn’t getting himself into any more trouble. He had to finish his project, and he doubted Naomi would let him finish it from prison.

 

 

 

The air was turning even more crisp, the leaves losing their brilliant color and falling, so Cas wrapped himself up in a coat as he made his way to his favorite bench on the quad. It had been nearly two weeks since he’d last seen Dean, a quick glimpse of him as he hurried from one class to another. He’d thought about him, though he knew it was a terrible idea. An awful indulgence. Dean had said he was promised, probably to a very rich and very powerful alpha, given how beautiful Dean was. And he was beautiful, with his long eyelashes and bright green eyes. He’d practically glowed from within. The soft fabrics that most Vinehall omegas wore wrapped his shapely body like . . .

Okay, daydreaming about him wasn’t going to help. Still, Castiel ventured here to the bench where they’d first met to indulge in the little flashes of memory, including that one tantalizing hint of honey and leather he’d thought had drifted on the air after Dean fled their failed interview.

He probably wouldn’t be able to smell a damn thing, now. Cas felt like he was walking around with a perpetually clogged nose now that the suppressants were in full effect. All told he could barely eat, wasn’t sleeping, and couldn’t smell anything. Why some people chose to live their entire lives on the stuff was beyond him.

He had just pulled out a notebook to jot down some thoughts and observations when the breeze carried something past him . . . Surely he had just imagined, just because he’d been thinking of Dean . . .

“Still stealing benches, I see.”

Castiel nearly fell off the bench at the deep voice that stirred something warm within him. He looked up into the over-bright eyes of Dean Winchester.

Except, their brightness was strange. And he looked pale, perhaps? Or had Castiel’s imagination supplied the glow in his absence?

“It is a free campus,” Castiel managed to reply. Dean was bundled against the cold in a dark blue wool pea coat and a sage green cashmere scarf, though Castiel thought he would look better wrapped in leather. Dean barked a laugh, a harsh, unnatural sound.

“Not sure about that,” he muttered. “How is the, uh, research going?”

“Better, thanks to you.” Dean shrugged.

“I didn’t do much.”

“I beg to differ. Without you, we wouldn’t have a single interview.” Dean looked at the ground. “Well, we would have one . . .” Cas concluded softly. Dean chuckled again, rueful.

“Yeah, I think I should apologize for that. I’m not really good with words, though, so I guess it shouldn’t have been a surprise.”

Castiel wished he would look up. “You don’t have to share anything you aren’t comfortable with, Dean. If you wanted to try again, though, you could let me know any time. But you don’t have to. It isn’t important. Your well-being is more important.”

Dean kicked at the ground and a tense silence fell for a moment. “Kevin won’t shut up about it,” Dean said at last. Castiel smiled.

“Kevin is a remarkable young man. He has an interesting story to tell.”

“Probably better than mine.”

Castiel tilted his head at Dean. “Stories don’t have to compete for value, Dean. That’s why I’m doing this project. Everyone’s voice deserves to be heard.”

Dean’s eyes snapped up to Castiel’s at that. “That’s kinda dangerous to say, Cas.” Castiel shrugged.

“I came to record stories. Omegas’ stories. We have far too little of that in our society, I think. We tell omegas what to think, rather than asking them to tell us for themselves.”

Dean stared at him, a strange look on his face. “Anybody ever tell you you’re one weird alpha?” Castiel laughed.

“All the time, actually.” Dean smiled back, a small but genuine smile, and Cas felt a blush rising up his cheeks. “Would you like to join me on the bench? I know I staked my claim, but I would be willing to share with a visiting dignitary should he feel so inclined.”

Dean laughed again, and the clouds that had covered his eyes seemed to recede a little. Castiel’s inner alpha was pleased at making the omega laugh, chanting at him to make it happen again. Dean, for his part, did move closer and perched on the very edge of the bench. Clearly he’d taken the Vinehall etiquette lessons for “how to sit as though you weigh nothing” to heart. Castiel turned to gather his notebook when a breeze kicked up again, and this time Castiel knew he wasn’t mistaken.

Dean had been in heat recently, so the tantalizing hints of honey and leather Cas had gotten before were deep and saturated, and Cas had to physically grab onto the seat of the bench to stop himself from burying his nose in Dean’s neck to chase it. The honey notes in his scent were light and airy, not heavy or sugary at all, and the leather was rich, like the covers of antique books or the clean leather interior of a sun-warmed car. It was intoxicating, and so startling that Cas missed the fact that Dean had been talking.

“I’m sorry, what did you ask?” he managed, though his mouth was dry. Dean looked at him with concern.

“I asked if your family misses you while you’re out here,” Dean said. “You okay?”

Cas nodded, perhaps too vigorously, but he was warring with himself. This couldn’t be real. His suppressants should make this impossible. And the blockers Dean wore should cancel everything out until all he smelled of was violets. He inhaled deeply again, trying not to tip Dean off, but there wasn’t a single hint of anything other than, just . . . Dean.

“I’m, uh . . . I’m fine,” Cas said. “And . . . family, yes, I don’t have much. Just . . . I have a brother, Gabriel, he’s actually in New York. We’re going to get together soon, I think. Have lunch.”

“That’s lucky. My brother, Sam, y’know? He’s all the way out in California. Man, I’d love to get to have lunch with him.”

“You miss him.”

“Yeah, I do. He’s, uh . . . he’s kind of everything I’ve got.”

As Castiel grew accustomed to the scent of the omega around him, he started picking up on its nuances. There was heat there, definitely; Dean was an omega in full bloom, irresistible to alphas the world over. It was the kind of full-bodied scent that alphas went crazy over. But there was also a profound sense of sadness, and a bitter sense of loathing.

He shouldn’t postpone his next dose. Clearly, his suppressants were going to fail if he waited much longer.

“I’m sorry you’re so far from him, then,” Cas said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch Dean. Dean smiled lightly at him.

“No big deal. I chose this, y’know?” Dean shivered then, though the air was still. “I’d better go,” he said. “See you around, Cas.”

Dean left, then, taking the scent with him and leaving Cas in a whirlwind of thoughts in his wake.

 

 

 

 

In spite of his better judgement, Castiel called the doctor to postpone his next suppressant shot before he left for lunch with Charlie that Friday. Away from the cocktail of Dean’s pheromones it was easier to think more clearly. He really did feel awful, and he had vomited up everything he’d eaten of the last couple of days. He had just started to feel better that morning, and wanted a few days to recover before dosing his body again. He made sure to slather on a thick layer of blockers, though, lest someone notice he’d pushed back his next dose.

He met Charlie in a quiet diner downtown, empty of most other patrons, so he spotted her immediately. She was a cheerful redhead wearing a red track jacket and a yellow SuperMario Bros t-shirt underneath. She waved at him once she saw him, inviting him over to a table already covered with food.

“I already ordered for you,” she said when he sat down. A giant, juicy cheeseburger and a mountain of fries sat in front of him. “I didn’t know what you’d like, but their burgers are the best thing on the menu so sorry if you don’t like them.”

“No, burgers make me very happy,” Cas said, taking a bite. He groaned around it, making Charlie laugh.

“Need some time alone?” she asked. He shook his head.

“I’ve been eating nothing but microwave macaroni and cheese and haven’t even been able to keep it down lately,” he said, swallowing his bite. He hoped against hope that he wouldn’t see this meal again later today. “Sorry. I’m Castiel Novak.”

“Charlie Bradbury,” she replied. “So, my girlfriend gave you my number. Kinda kinky.”

“Gilda is your girlfriend? But she indicated that she isn’t promised—”

“Whoa, dude, please don’t use that word. That Vinehall shit, just . . . you don’t have to use it here, okay? This is the real world.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you mean by that?”

“Okay, I’ll be straight with you because Gilda thinks I can trust you and I’ve read all of your work and _I_ think I can trust you. Things are not peachy keen for omegas here in the land of Oz.”

Cas blinked at her. “You needed to have lunch with me to tell me that?” he said incredulously.

“No. I just . . . you know the sitch, right? That bullshit legislation in the 1950s basically turned omegas into domestic slaves again. Like, okay, sure, we can’t _say_ we own them, but we’re gonna make it illegal for any of them to work. And then, we’re gonna make all the suppressants illegal, and force omegas not to wear any blockers so they’re sitting ducks for alphas when they’re in their heats, _and_ make it a federal crime to misrepresent your presentation . . .”

Castiel looked around in panic. “Should you be speaking so openly in a public place?” he hissed. Charlie looked around.

“No, it’s fine. Benny’s the owner, he’s the only one around, and he’s cool. His wife’s an omega and she’s the pastry chef. You should try their pie. Anyway, so I know you know what it’s like for omegas, so why in the hell are you spending your time up at Omega Repression Central and following all of their rules? You should be standing up with us!”

Sudden realization dawned on him. “You’re with the resistance,” he breathed. Charlie laughed.

“Rebel Alliance, that’s me. Dude, you have some seriously archaic vocabulary. Yes, I am the leader of . . . a pack of rebels, if you will. We’re planning on staging several demonstrations this fall and Gilda thought you might want in.”

Castiel’s stomach felt unsettled and it had very little to do with his suppressants this time. He knew his work was used to support Omega Rights groups across the country, and had even demonstrated with a few during his years in Berkeley, but his work was vulnerable now. If he was caught demonstrating, not even his “good family” would get him back in the favor of Adler and the Vinehall higher-ups.

“Charlie, understand that I . . . am sympathetic to your cause . . .”

“This is about your sister, isn’t it?”

Cas’s mouth fell open. “How do you know . . .?”

Before Charlie could answer the door slammed open and two uniformed police officers came striding inside. “Stay seated, folks, this is a police matter,” said one when Charlie went to stand. A burly man with a blondish beard and a felt newsboy cap came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Can I help you boys with somethin’?” he asked calmly.

“You Benny LaFitte?” asked one. The guy from the kitchen nodded.

“Yup, that’s me. How can I help ya?”

“You’re under arrest for illegally employing an omega and helping said omega mask their presentation.”

Without warning, another police officer came from the kitchen, holding a struggling woman in cuffs.

“Shit, Andrea,” Charlie said under her breath.

“Charlie, no!” Castiel hissed, but Charlie was up and across the diner before Cas could stop her.

“Hey, assholes!” she called. She had her phone pulled up and was filming. “Keep going if you want to end up on the national news!”

What happened next was too fast for Cas to comprehend, but in the end Charlie, Benny, and Andrea were taken out of the diner in cuffs and Cas was rushing down the sidewalk away from the scene with his cell phone pressed to his ear.

“Cassie! Long time no talk. When are we going to have that lunch?”

“Gabriel, I need your help. A friend was in trouble. She was arrested. I think . . . it’s your kind of thing, maybe?”

Castiel could hear Gabriel shuffling around on the other end. “Okay, baby bro, get yourself away from the scene and don’t draw attention to yourself. You can’t afford to get arrested, too. So, what’s her name?”

“Charlie Bradbury.”

“Shit, you’re mixed up with Bradbury? Baby brother mine, when you get yourself in it, you get in deep.”

“I am not _in_ anything—”

“And keep yourself that way. If you can, get back to that school and act like nothing happened. I’ll be up there in a few days once I get things squared away here. We’ll get her out, Cassie, just be patient, okay?”

“Okay.”

With that, Gabriel hung up. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was starting to wear off as he made his way back to his car. It was parked in front of the diner, where several news cameras and a team of officers was combing the scene. He quietly jumped in his car and drove away.

It was unsettling, to drive away from the people who needed help. Andrea’s panicked face was seared into his vision. But Gabriel was coming soon, and together they could do something.

Suddenly, his project didn’t seem like enough. It was too small, too personal . . . he wanted to do something big.

Maybe then Anna could forgive him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how wonderful you all are? You ARE! I get so giddy over the response to this fic, even just the fact that people are reading it at all! Please know that I appreciate every one of you!  
> Warning: brief sexist language and behavior; details in the end notes if you are concerned

Dean tapped his pencil against his desk in a quick staccato. His economics homework was swimming across the page as his thoughts chased each other around in circles. It had been two weeks since his heat, but he still couldn’t shake the cold feeling that drenched him whenever he thought about what he’d said and done . . .

The handkerchief was hidden deep in the back of his closet, buried under unused blankets to dampen the scent. He’d received two more gifts since then: a gaudy, expensive gold watch that was stashed in his desk and a bouquet of three dozen red roses that he’d let wilt and then dumped in the trash as quickly as he could. Kevin had laughed, at first, but then sobered quickly at the look on Dean’s face.

Now, though . . . his dreams were haunted by a faceless alpha, but Dean knew. He just knew who it had to be.

It had to be Michael, right?

Though the dream alpha had intensely blue eyes, just like . . .

“Fuck!”

Dean jumped at the curse and the sound of the outer door slamming. He immediately abandoned his homework and went to check on Kevin.

“Kevin, you okay?” he asked, poking his head into the common area. Kevin slapped his hand down on his desk and shook his head.

“No! They fucking . . . it’s Charlie. They arrested Charlie!”

Dean left his room in a hurry. “Whoa, whoa, man, slow the hell down. What do you mean, they arrested Charlie?”

“It was Benny and Andrea. Charlie stood up for them, and she got arrested, too. Gilda just told me.”

“What? Why would she . . . what _happened_?”

Kevin gave him a guilty look. “I, uh, might not have been completely honest about Charlie,” he said, sheepish.

“Okay . . .” ventured Dean. “So, what don’t I know?”

“Um . . . like a band-aid, right? Quick and painless?”

“Dude, spit it out!”

“Okay, okay! Charlie’s the leader of a local omega rights group. I met her through Gilda, her girlfriend, right before the term started.”

Dean felt the blood drain from his face. “Shit,” he breathed. “And you . . . how did she get on the list?”

Kevin made another face. “She may have hacked the system and put herself there.”

“Fuck.”

“. . . I might also have lied about her being employed by Roman. She was kind of, uh . . . she hacked the mainframe and had to go undercover.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

Dean’s knees felt weak. He stumbled over to the couch and sat down, head in his hands. This could fuck up _everything_. If Michael found out who he was hanging out with . . . it would be bad news, for him and for Sam.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Kevin said. “I know you’re always worried about getting in trouble, and I shouldn’t have lied to you, but she’s my friend, and I think that Novak asshole ratted her out—”

Dean looked up. “What?”

“Gilda told me she gave him Charlie’s number, because she . . . because _we_ trusted him. And he’s from California, and they’re so liberal out there, and he’s written all these articles about how omegas are equal to alphas and betas, and how they don’t deserve to be treated like property, and how their lives all kinda royally suck, so . . .”

“The point, Kevin!”

“Right, yeah, okay. So Gilda gave him Charlie’s number to see if he wanted in, y’know, on the rallies and stuff this fall? And they were supposed to meet up at Benny’s diner, and then there was a raid, and Benny’s wife’s an omega who suppresses and blocks . . .”

“She misrepresents.”

Kevin nodded, and chills ran down Dean’s spine. He knew the consequences for misrepresenting secondary gender all too well. Benny’s wife would be lucky to ever get to return to her family. Especially if she’d been working, not just “helping out” at the diner owned by her alpha.

“So, you think that Novak turned them in?”

“I have no idea, I just know one minute he’s meeting up with Charlie, who’s really good at covering her tracks, and the next she’s in jail.”

Dean seethed and his blood ran cold. He’d been the one to send Kevin there in the first place, to Cas—to _Novak_ , to be interviewed. This was all his fault. He should’ve trusted his instincts; no alphas could be trusted. But there had just been something about him, something warm and soft that curled up in Dean’s gut when he thought about him, spoke with him . . .

“That bastard,” Dean hissed, white-hot rage starting to pump through his veins. He grabbed his coat and pushed past Kevin who tried to stop him at the door.

“Wait, Dean, you can’t go—at least let me go with—”

Dean slammed the door in Kevin’s face and took off, hoping Kevin wouldn’t follow him. He had gotten his friends into enough trouble already. Nothing good would come on Kevin going to confront Novak, too.

Dean shouldn’t be doing this, either. If word got back to Michael that he’d confronted an alpha, that he’d been participating in this study even tangentially . . .

He was halfway across campus before the thought struck him. _What if Novak is working for Michael?_

It was far-fetched, but not impossible. But . . . no, surely if he was . . .

Fuck, Dean didn’t have any time to think before he was wrenching open the door to the “lab” where Novak and his assistant did their work. It was empty except for the small, pretty beta typing away at her computer. She looked up in surprise, but Dean snarled at her and she stayed quiet.

“Dean?”

Dean’s attention snapped to the figure standing at the back of the room. Novak’s hands were in front of him in supplication, and it was only then that Dean realized he was growling. But this man, this _alpha_ had hurt one of his friends, his _pack_ . . .

“Dean, you need to calm down,” Novak said quietly. He glanced over Dean’s shoulder and shook his head, probably at the beta, but Dean wouldn’t look away from the threat in the room. “Whatever’s happened, you’ve gotten worked into a frenzy and if you don’t calm down you may do something you’ll regret.”

“ _Charlie_ ,” Dean growled. Novak lowered his hands, guilt passing over his features.

“She’s your friend?” he asked, still in that quiet, even tone. But Dean couldn’t let his guard down, couldn’t let an alpha hurt him like he’d been hurt in the past.

“Did you . . .” Dean swallowed hard, trying to fight back his instincts enough to speak in complete sentences. “Was it you?”

Novak shook his head, seeming to understand. “No, Dean, I didn’t betray her. I’ve spoken with Gilda. My brother, Gabriel? He’s an omega rights attorney. He’ll be here tomorrow and work on getting her out. Charlie is going to be okay, Dean. Please calm down.”

It would be better if Dean could scent him, but Novak was on suppressants, and probably covered in blockers, so Dean couldn’t get any kind of a read on him. But his eyes were kind (and so, _so_ blue), his stance wasn’t aggressive, and his voice was even and strong. Dean breathed deeply, lowering his heart rate and calming down some. The rage was retreating, but Dean was still angry.

“You were there,” he demanded. “Why didn’t you do anything?”

The guilt returned. “I wanted to. But if I had, I simply would have been arrested, too. And then it would have done Charlie, and Benny and Andrea, no good. We’re going to help them, Dean. I promise.”

“I want to see her,” Dean demanded. “Let’s go.”

“Dean, I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

“I don’t care if you think it’s a good idea. We have to go and tell her someone’s going to help her. We can’t just leave her there.”

“Dean—”

“Please, Cas.”

That startled Castiel (though Dean wasn’t sure when he’d stopped being “Novak”; probably when his rage subsided), who looked torn. Finally, Castiel sighed. “Okay,” he said. “But we need a chaperone.”

“Right,” Dean replied. Of course. Somewhere in his anger he’d forgotten . . . but propriety had to be observed. He was probably already in trouble for the way he’d stormed over here. Dean’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he cast his eyes to the ground. “You’re right, sir.”

Castiel took a few steps forward, hesitated, then stopped in front of Dean. His shoes were scuffed, cheap black dress slip-ons. Without warning, Castiel reached out and lifted Dean’s chin with two fingers, bringing Dean’s gaze back up. Dean wavered, but Castiel’s touch remained, so Dean finally looked up to make eye contact.

“You don’t ever have to submit to me,” Castiel breathed. Dean was ensnared, the fingers under his chin reminiscent of Michael, but those deep blue eyes were still soft and familiar. He hardly blinked.

“ _Ahem_.”

Castiel dropped his hand and Dean whirled to face Castiel’s assistant—Hannah! That was her name. She had an eyebrow raised and nailed Castiel with a significant stare.

“If you two idiots are going to do this,” she said archly, “then I’ll go with you. You know, as an official _chaperone_. That you have to have as an unmated _alpha_ and an _omega_. According to the _rules of our contract_.”

Dean didn’t miss the tone in her voice, blushing again and looking down at his shoes. Castiel made a few embarrassed noises, then went to get his coat.

They had to stop by the administration building so that Hannah could officially sign Dean out, but they made it a quick visit. The three of them hurried to the parking lot where Castiel had left his car that morning. Dean couldn’t help but feel a thrill; it had been weeks since he’d left the confines of Vinehall, and there was something exciting about having Castiel by his side.

Of course, that all brought the memories of Charlie and his first foray into the outside world here, which sharpened the gravity of their trip.

“This one’s mine,” Castiel said, and Dean had to stop himself from flinching.

“ _This_ is your car?” Dean demanded. “Wow, nice pimp-mobile,” he added before he could stop himself. Castiel frowned.

“I like it.”

Every fiber of his being recoiled at the beige monstrosity before him. The car was _hideous_ , not to mention worse for wear. The paint was chipped in several places, as though it had been pelted by bad weather and not repaired. It was badly in need of a wash, and that made Dean question whether or not Castiel had been attending to the inner workings of the car, either. His fingers itched even as he climbed into the back seat, even though it was quite possibly one of the ugliest cars he’d ever seen. He wanted to open up the hood, check her over, make sure everything was in top working condition . . .

It had been a very long time since he’d missed working with his hands quite so fiercely, but it was a feeling he couldn’t shake the entire drive into the city center.

 

 

 

The local jail was a small building attached to the courthouse. A few stone steps led up to its entrance, and the doors were flanked by two burly alpha police officers. Dean quickly dropped a few paces behind Castiel, clasped his hands in front of himself, and bowed his head. He’d been working on traditional omega posture and movement in his classes, so he tried to settle into it. Around campus, among mostly only other omegas, emphasis on those things was lax, but here in the open it was better if he could slip into it naturally.

“Can I help you, sir?” one of the guards asked Castiel.

“Yes, my friends and I are here to visit one of the prisoners,” Castiel said coolly, though he sounded out of place. Hannah stiffened next to him, her scent turning a little sour at whatever was happening at the door.

“Can’t bring the omega in,” the other guard said. “Leave him with the beta, and you can come in.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek to keep from replying. Castiel was an alpha; let him deal with this.

“The prisoner is a friend of all of ours. We would all like to see her,” Castiel replied more sternly.

“Yeah, and I want Christmas off this year, but that ain’t happening, either. Leave the bitch or you don’t get in at all.”

Dean clenched his fists, but managed to hold himself back. It had been a long time since he’d been called that in public.

“Excuse me, officer, there is no need for that kind of language—”

“Look, I know you rich alpha types are gonna push ‘til you get what you want, but let me tell you now: leave the breeder outside or get lost.”

Dean snarled and pushed past Hannah, ignoring the strong hands on him as he launched himself toward the police officer. Arms like steel wrapped around his chest, holding him back, and the officer started to laugh.

“Get control over your omega,” he said as Dean struggled. Cas had his chest pressed flat against Dean’s back, holding him tightly even as Dean fought harder to get away.

“Dean, you have to stop,” Cas whispered in Dean’s ear. “Please.”

Dean tried to concentrate on the firm hold around him rather than the laughing, pompous face of the alpha in front of him, but blood was rushing through his ears and he was pretty sure he was going to snap again. He managed to let himself get carried away from the jail, though, and back to Cas’s ugly car. He even climbed into the back seat under his own steam. To his dismay, though, Cas climbed into the back seat with him instead of the front as Hannah got behind the wheel.

“Dean, calm down, none of this is helping Charlie,” Cas said, sitting calmly as though Dean wasn’t two seconds away from launching himself across the seat at him.

Dean took deep, steadying breaths, noticing Hannah’s bubbly summer scent tinged with the metallic taste of anxiety. He had to get control over himself.

“Fuck,” he managed to hiss after a few minutes. Cas had relaxed his posture next to him as Dean turned to him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Cas. I guess I’m just on edge.”

And wouldn’t it just be the icing on the cake if any of this got back to Crowley? Or Adler? Or Michael? Dean’s anxiety started to spike, but even as it did Cas reached across the seat and placed a steadying hand on his wrist.

“How can I help you, Dean?”

Dean stared down at the alpha’s hand, remembering his strong arms wrapped around him. And even, despite everything, the suspicions, the roller coaster of emotions he’d been on already, Dean felt grounded.

“Do we have to go back?” Dean asked meekly. Cas smiled a little.

“Eventually, yes,” Cas said. “I doubt the school would take kindly to my kidnapping you.”

_If only_ , Dean’s brain supplied unhelpfully. Wherever that had come from. “Can we just . . . go somewhere?”

Castiel looked toward Hannah in the front seat. “Hannah, can you take us to the park just outside of town?” Hannah rolled her eyes.

“I’m not sure if you intend to return to work today, Castiel, but I _do_ have things to get done,” she said irritably. “Then drop us off. It is a public place, and I could simply walk Dean back to the school when we’re done. It isn’t far.”

And so Dean’s heart was in his throat as Hannah drove off, leaving Dean alone with Castiel. Of course, they weren’t any more alone than they’d been those times they’d met at the bench on the quad, but for some reason this felt different. Maybe because they were off campus, where Dean wasn’t some omega in training to become an alpha’s plaything. Maybe because, Dean suddenly realized, he’d felt more like himself today than he had in months.

“Shall we?” Castiel asked.

They wandered into the park, finally coming upon an unoccupied bench. It was starting to get too chilly to spend much time outdoors, so the park was sparsely populated. Dean smiled shyly at Cas as they both settled on the bench, a respectable distance from each other.

“Thank you,” Dean said when they were settled. “For trying to take me to see Charlie. And for staying out here a little longer.”

“You’re welcome,” Cas said. “I’m sure it’s nice to get away every once in a while.”

“Yeah. Not that I’m not grateful, or whatever,” Dean added hastily. Castiel pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything. “It’s a good opportunity,” Dean pressed. Cas continued to look into the distance.

Time passed in silence, comfortable. The sky grew more overcast as the afternoon went on, a chill breeze whipping past. Dean wrapped his arms around himself, looking up at the clouds.

“Dean, why are you at Vinehall?”

The question was quiet, tentative, and made Dean shiver. He looked at Castiel, but the alpha was still gazing straight ahead. Dean shrugged.

“I fucked up. Made some stupid choices, didn’t see what was happening in front of me, made a deal to get myself out.”

It was the most Dean had told anyone about his circumstances. But, strangely, he wasn’t afraid. Now, he didn’t want to tell Castiel the whole story, but not for the same reasons as before.

“I understand,” Castiel said. “The impulse to run from your past. I feel it, too.”

Dean stared. He wished Cas would make eye contact. “So are you? Running, I mean?”

Cas’s deep blue eyes were full of pain when he finally looked at Dean. It took his breath away. “I thought I was trying to make up for it. I think I was wrong.”

They’d drifted closer, without Dean’s knowledge or permission. Cas was so close now Dean could feel the heat radiating from him, now he could count the individual eyelashes that rimmed those unfathomable eyes. He licked his lips unconsciously, watched Castiel track the movement and reflexively wet his own. Dean’s breathing came quick and shallow, his own mind screamed at him to stop, to back away, but he was drawn to this alpha . . . to Cas . . .

Suddenly Dean was drenched as the skies opened up into a frigid, pouring rain. He gasped in shock, but Cas grabbed his hand and said, “Come on!”

He would have followed Castiel anywhere.

 

 

 

They ran several blocks in the wrong direction to go back to the main Vinehall campus, but soon reached a small bungalow near the edge of the school’s property. Cas opened the door and dashed inside, pulling Dean in behind him.

It was small, but cozy. The furniture and décor didn’t match what Dean knew of Cas, though, so he wondered whose house this was. A perfunctory scenting of the main room and kitchen revealed nothing but maybe a small residue of Hannah’s soft scent. Cas bustled around the kitchen, pouring grounds into a small coffee maker. He seemed pretty at home, so Dean had to assume he lived here.

“Is this your place?” Dean asked, hovering in the doorway. Cas turned to him.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, I know it isn’t proper and I certainly don’t want to get you in trouble, but it was closer and I wanted to get you out of the rain.”

Dean smiled. “It’s okay, Cas,” he said. Castiel practically beamed.

“I’m starting coffee. Please, come in and we can get you some dry clothes.”

It was strange to move through an alpha’s home and not get any of their scent. There were traces of something old, faint, but there was no way Dean could be sure it was Cas’s and not a previous resident. The suppressants were certainly doing their job. The rain had probably washed off all of Dean’s blockers, and he would have worried if he didn’t know that Cas’s nose was likely completely disabled by his shots.

Dean remembered what it was like to be on blockers for so long. At first, he’d been sick every day, but eventually he’d evened out. It had made it difficult to scent others, but with the suppressants and blockers he finally didn’t feel the need to take inventory of every alpha in the area, to log and memorize all of the exits and escape routes. Even now, he was having a difficult time convincing himself that he should do that here, even though he was very clearly an unmated omega in his prime, alone with an unmated alpha. Vinehall, for all of its flaws, allowed omegas to go through their daily lives without fear of being attacked.

“Here,” Castiel said, handing Dean a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. “We can hang your things to dry. The sweater may be ruined, I fear.”

Dean had worn one of the cashmere sweaters he’d grown fond of under his wool pea coat, and it had gotten soaked through from the exposed collar. He shrugged.

“It’s fine,” he said, managing to stop himself before he blurted out _my alpha will buy me another one_. He didn’t want to bring up Michael here, in the sanctuary of Cas’s presence.

Dean stepped into the bathroom and carefully locked the door behind him. Mild-mannered or not, Cas was still an alpha, and he did not like the idea of stripping naked in a room with only one exit. He dressed quickly, running a towel over his hair and squeezing the worst of the water out of his slacks. The silky omega underwear was mercifully mostly dry, so he didn’t have to worry about soaking through the sweatpants Cas had given him.

Once he’d finished, he moved back into the kitchen where Cas was waiting with two steaming mugs of coffee. Cas had clearly changed, too, standing in a pair of matching sweats and another t-shirt. He looked up from the table and his cheeks turned pink. Oh. This was the first time Cas had seen him out of his Vinehall uniform.

_See something you like?_ came unbidden into his head. He tossed the thought away.

“Thanks, Cas,” he said, taking a mug of coffee.

“You’re welcome, Dean,” Cas replied, smiling a little. They both sat at the table, slightly awkward compared to before. The rain continued to pour outside, creating a buzz of white noise in the background. Dean became more and more aware that he was wearing a strange alpha’s clothing, an alpha that wasn’t his mate, and though the suppressants and blockers stopped any of Cas’s scent from transferring to Dean, Dean’s own scent was soaking through the fabric as he spoke. He sipped stiffly at his coffee, ignoring the glances he was getting from Cas across the table.

“Hannah should be back with the car soon,” Cas said. “I texted her, and she said she’d gone to run an errand. She’ll come and let us know when she’s back.”

“Okay,” Dean said, a little relieved. Dean finished his coffee, and Cas’s mug looked empty, so he reached for both mugs and stood to go to the sink.

“Dean.”

Cas caught Dean’s wrist, taking the mug from his hand. Dean stared resolutely at the floor as Cas stood, taking the other mug and placing it next to the first on the table. Castiel was close, closer than he’d been at the park. Dean could feel the air thicken around them, close and tight, and his mouth grew dry. Licking his lips was the only rational thing to do.

“Look at me, Dean.”

It wasn’t a command; no alpha timbre there to coerce Dean into doing what Cas wanted. But Dean felt compelled, anyway, his eyes lifting their gaze again until they met Cas’s.

“Dean,” Cas whispered, leaning in slowly, keeping eye contact, and Dean held his breath, closed his eyes, waited for their lips to connect . . .

Then Cas was inhaling deeply, his nose hovering over the pulse point in Dean’s neck, gentle and respectful. A shudder passed through the alpha, and Dean couldn’t help the small groan that escaped him. Dean lowered his own nose to the corresponding place on Cas’s neck, bared to him, submissive, like an alpha is never meant to be. Knowing he wouldn’t, couldn’t, scent anything there, Dean still drew in a deep breath.

The rich scent of a library, old book pages and crisp new ink, laced through with cinnamon-nutmeg-apple overwhelmed Dean’s senses and he groaned again, lower and louder than before. His hands clasped at Cas’s arms, holding him close. He wanted to bury his face in Cas’s neck, to pull every nuance from that scent. It shouldn’t be possible, with the cocktail of suppressants and blockers he knew Cas had to be on, but there it was. So thick that it couldn’t be a fluke, couldn’t be a missed or lazy application.

“Cas . . .” Dean hissed, grounding himself in the touch to stop from rubbing his face all over Cas’s neck, to scent mark him. Cas clutched back at him, seemingly doing the same.

“Dean . . .” breathed Cas again, then suddenly he pushed Dean away and jerked back. “Dean! Oh god . . . Dammit, I’m so sorry, I—I can’t even begin to—I’m so sorry, let me take you home! I can give you something more suitable to wear . . . what was I thinking . . .”

“Cas—”

“I should never—and you didn’t say . . . I am so sorry, Dean, please, you have to believe me, I never wanted—”

“Cas—”

“This isn’t why I brought you here, and now I’ve probably . . . you have to go back and you’ll probably smell of me until you can get back into your own clothes and blockers. I hope you can find it in you to forgive me, though I won’t forgive myself anytime soon—”

“Cas!”

Castiel finally stopped his fretful pacing, hands clasped in front of him. He looked desperate, his hair in even more disarray than usual. If anyone were to walk in now, to see the two of them in the alpha’s clothes, the state of their hair and their scents . . .

Dean stepped forward, reached a hand toward Cas, an offer. “Scent me, Cas,” he said, offering his wrist.

“Dean, I can’t. You’re a student, you’re a research participant . . . you’re _promised_ . . .”

“Scent me, alpha.”

Cas shuddered under the weight of the word. He turned his head toward Dean’s wrist as Dean placed his hand on Cas’s cheek. He would smell no fear, no hesitation. It was Dean’s turn to shudder as Cas nuzzled his wrist, a less lasting scent mark than the neck.

“Alpha . . .” Dean murmured again, pulling Cas closer, Cas’s eyes on Dean’s mouth, and finally, _finally_ their lips touched.

Cas’s lips were chapped, dry and thick, but his mouth was warm and inviting as he placed several light pecks to the pout of Dean’s lips before capturing them in a deep kiss. Dean’s breath caught, his arms wrapped around Cas’s neck, body flush against the alpha’s as they moved together. Dean flicked his tongue against Cas’s bottom lip, then captured the resulting moan as he was invited inside.

It was wet, and hot, and Dean could feel the slick beginning to trickle from his hole as he pressed impossibly closer to Cas. He felt safe, and warm, the alpha’s arms tight across the small of his back, hand pressed firmly between his shoulder blades.

They broke apart, finally, but didn’t move far. Cas pressed his forehead against Dean’s and gazed at him in wonder, as though Dean was the most precious thing in the whole universe.

“Dean, I—” Cas began, but a sharp rap on the door made the two jump apart.

“Cas, it’s me. I’ve got the car—” Hannah opened the door, her own hair damp from the rain, peering around the corner and into the kitchen. The look on her face spoke volumes as she took in Cas’s tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips. Their scents had begun to mingle in the small space.

Kiss-swollen. Scent-marked. Oh, shit.

This was stupid. This was so, so stupid. How could he have been such an idiot? What was he going to do now? It was still raining . . . maybe the rain . . .

“Dean, wait!”

But it wasn’t a command. Not an alpha command. Dean was sure Castiel would never use those, anyway.

Without a second though, Dean fled the bungalow and raced out into the rain, leaving Cas reeling behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Dean gets called a "bitch" and a "breeder" at the jail when they try to visit Charlie


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH! The response to this story continues to be overwhelming.  
> Sorry for the delay on this! This chapter fought me a lot . . . We're getting into the meat of the story here (which means more angst headed your way, fair warning!).  
> Please enjoy! Your comments, kudos, and subscriptions are all AMAZING and I appreciate every single one of you!

The omega’s lips were soft, his mouth searing hot as Castiel tasted him. And, oh, god, Dean tasted as good as he smelled. Better. Sweet and smoky, flooding Cas’s system with pheromones. He grasped onto Dean, holding him tight and secure in his arms as Dean gasped against his lips. Castiel pulled back, resting their foreheads together, breath coming fast and shallow, the faintest scent of slick on the air making Castiel harden in his trousers. He gazed into Dean’s fathomless green eyes glazed with hunger and his heart raced. Dean’s face was flushed, freckles standing out stark against the pink skin, and he was the most beautiful sight Cas had ever seen.

“Dean, I—” he began, then leapt back at the knock on the door.

“Cas, it’s me. I’ve got the car—”

Cas panicked as Dean’s eyes grew huge and frantic, darting almost comically between Hannah and Cas. Cas could see his decision a split second before he acted on it, watching the omega’s instinct to run pull his muscles taut and Cas called out, “Dean, wait!”

Dean didn’t heed him; he dashed past Hannah out into the downpour.

“Dammit,” Castiel swore, moving to follow.

“Cas—”

“Hannah, I have to go after—”

“You can’t!”

She blocked his path to the door, and Castiel growled at her. “Get out of my way,” he hissed. His omega was out there alone, he needed to be caught, sheltered, _protected_ . . .

“Alpha, stop!”

The title pulled Cas up short. Suddenly he was aware of the adrenaline and testosterone pumping through his veins, charging him up in a way that shouldn’t be possible since he was still technically on suppressants.

 _But you could scent Dean_ . . .

“Hannah,” Cas said levelly, and Hannah took a deep breath of relief at the tone. “I-I need to . . . Dean isn’t . . .”

Hannah pursed her lips, but nodded. “I’ll go get him, Alpha. I’ll take him home and make sure he’s safe.”

Cas watched her leave, closing the door behind her, then dropped into a nearby chair and hung his head into his hands. The hormone surge that had come from nowhere was subsiding, but it left him shaky and a little disoriented. How in the hell had today ended up here?

Dean’s scent was still filling his nose, and Cas realized he was rubbing his hands across his face. The scent still lingered there from when Cas had held him, stroked the pulse point in his wrist, nuzzled it, leaving his own scent there . . .

Fuck! Cas leapt to his feet, pacing. Dean was wearing his clothes, he’d been marked with Cas’s scent, and now Hannah was going to take him straight back to the lion’s den. Shit, he needed to find his phone, quickly. He checked his pockets, but they were empty, so he raced to his bedroom to see if he’d left it there. A cursory search didn’t reveal anything, but he couldn’t give up. He needed to call Hannah before it was too late . . .

A buzzing sound alerted him from underneath his bedside table, and Cas scooped it up, answering without checking the screen.

“Hannah?” he asked breathlessly.

“Now, I told you to only call me ‘Hannah’ in private, Cassie.”

Cas growled. “I don’t have time right now, Gabriel. I’ll call you back when I can.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Is this about your little beta friend whose charges I happened to get dropped over the phone today, you’re very welcome?”

“No, I—wait, what?”

“Somebody in law enforcement in your neck of the woods owes me a favor. The ginger is off the hook. Her buddy and his mate, though . . .”

“So, you’re not coming here?”

“What? No, of course I’m coming! Didn’t you hear? Latest landmark victory for omegas in the workplace? Guess who was lead counsel?”

Castiel paced again. “Gabriel, I don’t have _time_ —”

“Me, genius. I’m going to take their case. How do you feel about houseguests?”

“No, absolutely not. I can’t. I’m busy with my project, which is behind as it is, and I’m living on _Vinehall property_. I don’t think they’d take kindly to an omega rights lawyer staying here. Nevermind _you_. And I can’t have any distractions, Gabe.”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right. Okay, well, I’ll scope out houses in the area and let you know.”

“Great, thanks.”

Gabriel might have been speaking, but Castiel hung up anyway, quickly punching Hannah’s contact information. It rang four times before going to voicemail. Cas cursed, then tried dialing again to the same result.

How long had it been since they’d left? Had Hannah managed to catch Dean? Perhaps she was driving, and couldn’t answer the phone.

Castiel wasn’t sure why he was so very concerned. Of course he cared about Dean as a human being, but in all honesty this entire afternoon had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have let Hannah leave, should have just taken Dean back to the school, shouldn’t have given him that change of clothes or skipped his last suppressant shot . . .

The door slammed shut and Cas rushed into the living room where Hannah was standing, arms crossed and fire in her eyes. Despite that, Cas breathed a sigh of relief.

“What in the hell were you thinking, Castiel?” she demanded. “You were supposed to take him straight back to the school, not bring him here and . . . and . . .” “Nothing happened, Hannah,” Cas said, but he winced. Her eyebrow shot up.

“Oh? That boy absolutely _reeked_ of you. I have no idea what came over you, but you _have_ to make it stop. Now.”

Cas swallowed, nodding. “Of course, yes. It was stupid, it shouldn’t have happened.” “Damn right it shouldn’t. It isn’t just your career on the line here. Do you realize how much could fall apart if you can’t keep it together? This is your life, and mine; _our_ future. Don’t lose it over one man.”

He stared at her hard expression. “Hannah, you know that I don’t . . . We’re just colleagues, you and I . . .”

She rolled her eyes. “I meant our _professional_ future, Castiel. Not everyone is in love with you, you know.”

Castiel managed to huff a laugh, but sobered immediately. “How did you get him back without anyone noticing?”

“I had a change of clothes in the car. A little lemon juice on his scent points and a ton of that awful blocker they make them wear, and he could make it to his room. He’ll have to be careful for a couple of days, but it’s going to be difficult. What did you do?”

A sheepish blush spread up Castiel’s cheeks, and Hannah shook her head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Just . . . don’t do it again?”

Castiel laughed, mirthless. “Of course.”

 

 

 

 

Over the next week, avoiding Dean turned out to be easy. He never came in to give interviews, of course, and the only place Castiel had ever run into him was the quad. By simply walking the same path from his car to the lab every day, Cas was able to completely dodge the quad.

But he couldn’t dodge the questions. When Kevin came in for his first interview session after the . . . incident, he’d leveled Cas with a glare, arms crossed over his chest.

“So, Castiel,” he’d said, leaning back in the interview room. “Tell me something about growing up as an alpha, a story you’d like people to hear.”

Castiel could appreciate the turnabout, since that was a routine first interview question, but the way Kevin asked it had been almost accusatory.

“I suppose we can talk about me, but I’d really rather talk about you, Kevin—”

“Dude, you’re an ethnographer, not a shrink. I’ve been pouring my heart out to you all semester, but I don’t know a damn thing about you. Don’t really think that’s fair.”

The session ended quickly after that.

Gilda had thanked him profusely for getting Charlie’s charges dropped, which Castiel had assured her was not only nothing, but had actually been Gabriel’s doing.

“You still called your brother. Thank you.”

They’d managed to settle into a comfortable interview before Gilda started subtly turning the tables.

“I was an only child,” she said. “I grew up very isolated, sheltered because of my secondary gender, so I never got to know children my age. Do you have siblings, Mr. Novak?”

“I—” Castiel hesitated. “Only one. My brother, Gabriel. We didn’t grow up together, though. I suppose I can relate to your loneliness. I wasn’t isolated, but I was introverted, which can amount to the same thing.”

“And your parents?”

“Absent, mostly. I was sent . . .” he trailed off, eyeing her suspiciously. “I think we’re veering off course, Gilda. This is about you, after all.”

The worst, though, was Sarah.

“I understand that you had to pass a background check to even set foot on campus, but if we’re spending so much time with you, I need to know some things, Castiel.”

Cas sighed. “Did you all have a meeting or something?” he grumbled. Sarah ignored him.

“Let me cut to the chase. Are you a good man, Castiel Novak? Are you noble, are you kind? Because I think you are. Finish your research, and leave. You’re on very thin ice.”

The blood drained from Castiel’s face and he found he couldn’t speak. Sarah looked as though she understood, because she patted his hand gently and left the lab.

Castiel drowned himself in his transcriptions, hardly noticing when Hannah left for the evening or when the office grew dark as the sun set.

He did notice, though, when one of the lamps came on. He pulled his headphones off quickly and looked up at the intruder, his breath catching.

It was Dean.

He looked pale, his freckles standing out in contrast, his long eyelashes dark against his cheeks as he stared at his shoes. He was wearing another lovely sweater, a scarf artfully draped around his elegant throat against the cold. He was beautiful, and overwhelming, and still, even under the blockers, Castiel could smell him. He was worried, anxious, but under all that was, somehow, possibly, _relief_.

“Dean, you can’t be here,” Castiel said, but it came out breathy and weak. Dean nodded, continuing to examine his shoes.

“I know, I . . . I just wanted to say I’ll tell the guys to lay off. I know they’ve been . . . well, they think something’s up, so . . .”

Cas’s heart skipped. “Did you tell them what happened?” he breathed. Dean’s head whipped up, and Castiel lost his breath at the sudden eye contact.

“What? No! Of course I didn’t. I’m not an idiot. But neither are they, and they know you’re the only alpha I’ve really been around, so they, y’know, assumed.”

“Oh.”

The air wavered in the silence. Castiel couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere else, but Dean’s eyes darted around the office, occasionally skipping over Cas’s eyes. He needed Dean to leave; it was getting difficult to breathe around his scent, filling the room as it was. Cas opened his mouth to say so, but then Dean blurted, “I fixed cars!”

Cas tilted his head, squinting. “I’m . . . sorry?” he said. Dean clenched his teeth, and a fist.

“I, uh, I fixed cars. When I was young. Hell, up until about six months ago. Well, why aren’t you recording? This is the kind of shit you wanted, right?”

It felt like Cas unfroze, his brain and body ticking forward in slow increments. “Oh, yes, of course! Just, let me . . .” He fumbled on his desk for his recording device. “Oh, here it is, just give me . . .” He gestured awkwardly to the interview room. “Would you like to . . . ?”

“Nah, don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dean chuckled. “Enclosed space and all.”

“O-okay, here, have a seat, then, I’ll just . . .” Castiel set up the recorder somewhere on the edge of his desk, angled toward Dean so it would hopefully catch the sound. “Please, continue.”

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, chewing on the inside of his lip. “Look, I don’t know that I got much to say. I mean, I gotta keep a lotta stuff kinda close, y’know? To protect people. I ain’t got the most sterling past.”

Castiel smiled encouragingly at him. “That’s okay. You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to.”

So, Dean spoke. He eventually sat in the chair near Hannah’s desk, gesturing emphatically as he told stories of clients, of the cars he’d loathed to let go, and of his own.

“It’s a ’67 Chevy Impala, man, you should see her. I keep her _cherry_. It’s a bitch to get the parts sometimes, but it’s so worth it. When I open her up on the highway, that purr, the power, the wind that rushes past . . . it’s better than sex.”

Castiel blushed. “You know this from practical experience, or . . .?”

Dean winked, sending a shiver through Cas. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Cas cleared his throat, shuffling his papers. “So, were there ever any close calls? Anyone who might take issue with an omega mechanic?”

“Shit, Cas, you know omegas can’t work like that. I was on suppressants from my first heat until about six months ago. Strongest stuff I could get.”

A moment later, he seemed to realize what he said and Castiel could tell he was on the verge of bolting so he said quickly, “It must have been quite an adjustment, then, to come here and stop suppressing.”

Dean stared so long Cas thought he wasn’t going to answer, then, “Uh, yeah. I’d say.”

The pause that followed was long enough that Castiel reached out and stopped the recording device. “Thank you, Dean, for sharing that with me.” Dean nodded.

“You gonna put that in your paper?” he asked.

“If I use anything, it will have all identifying elements removed.”

“So you’ll change the stuff about the Impala?”

“Yes.”

Dean laughed. “Okay, cool. Just make her something cool, not, like, a Dodge Charger or some shit.”

“Dean, I literally have no idea what that means.”

Dean chuckled again, his smile warming Castiel’s very core. Cas cleared his throat again. “Dean, about the other day—”

“Bygones, man,” Dean said. “Don’t even mention it. But, uh, maybe we shouldn’t hang out, y’know? I’m, uh . . . I gotta be careful.”

“You’re promised.”

The words fell softly from Castiel’s lips, casting a pall over the atmosphere in the room. Dean’s face turned hard, though his small smile remained in place.

“I’ll see you around, Cas,” he said.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, and Dean, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, left into the growing dark. Castiel collapsed into his chair, scrubbing his face with his hands.

Dean’s scent lingered, the soft smell of content omega suffusing his office with the feeling of _safe_ and _happy_ and _home_.

Dean smelled like . . . like . . .  _mate_.

He wondered if Dean could scent him as clearly, what Castiel would smell like to him.

 

 

 

“Baby bro!”

Castiel watched his whirlwind of an older brother sweep into the restaurant and sighed. The years had not changed him at all. Clearly he was a little older than he’d been the last time Castiel saw him, his hairline a bit higher and middle a bit thicker, but the glint in those toffee-brown eyes was exactly the same. He stood to shake hands, but of course Gabriel grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug. The small beta smelled like cotton candy and fresh-cut grass, just like Castiel remembered, and immediately Cas relaxed into the hug. They may not have grown up together, but Gabriel’s light scent reminded Castiel of home.

“Wow, they’ve got you on something strong! Can’t catch a single whiff,” Gabriel said as he slid into a chair opposite Castiel’s. Cas frowned.

“I skipped my last dose,” Castiel said. “I’m going in next week. I thought for sure it would have worn off by now.”

“Shows what you know. Suppressants, especially the strong stuff? Takes _months_ to work its way out of your system.”

That news was . . . interesting, to say the least. Now that Cas thought about it, he couldn’t think of anyone who could scent him. No one had remarked on it, of course, but he’d just assumed it was out of polite convention. He’d been postponing interviews to make sure they weren’t compromised because he’d thought . . . he’d thought . . .

“Well, since it’s been an actual age since I’ve seen you, how are you doing, little brother?” Gabriel asked, pouring copious amounts of sugar into his coffee.

“I’m busy,” Castiel said, sipping from his own mug. “Which is why I told you that I can’t possibly have you stay with me—”

“Never fear, o anal-retentive one! I have found suitable lodgings that do not require I trespass upon your _limited_ hospitality!”

Castiel glared.

After they’d finished eating, Gabriel insisted on bringing Castiel to his new home. Castiel couldn’t help his dropped jaw at the sight.

It was an absolutely _enormous_ house, complete with a three car garage. Gabriel parked them inside it relatively smoothly, grinning at Castiel as he climbed out of the car and moved toward the door.

“So, what do you think? I’m renting, so don’t scratch the paint.”

The inside of the house was beautiful. It was clearly decorated by someone with delicate taste, but everything was clean and modern. A sweeping staircase led up to a second floor from the wide, open-concept main space. Gabriel led him up the stairs and pointed out several bedrooms along a corridor before opening one in particular.

“And this one’s yours!” he declared, opening the door to a sizeable bedroom complete with en-suite bathroom. It was decorated in cool colors, with a rather large mahogany-framed bed and several empty bookcases.

“It’s . . . what?”

“Okay, okay, I have an ulterior motive coming here,” Gabriel said.

“I thought you were going to take on Benny and Andrea’s case,” Cas ventured.

“Oh, yeah, I’m totally doing that. A Massachusetts victory, in the town where _Vinehall_ is? Come on, what self-respecting omega rights attorney would pass that up? But besides that, I’m here for you. I want to support you.”

Cas snorted. “Well, thank you, Gabriel, but I do have a fellowship and grants for my project. Not to mention that I’m going to be finished here in a month or so and returning to California—”

“You can do your research from anywhere, just send your shit in to Naomi and she can bleed red ink on it and send it right back. You don’t have to actually be in Berkeley to graduate.”

“But my contacts are all there. I can’t exactly get started on my work if I’m all the way across the country from them.”

“I have contacts I can introduce you to here! C’mon, Cassie, the east coast is where the action is! What kind of glory is there in being an omega rights activist in fucking _California_? It’s like being a nipple on a male alpha.”

“That’s a disturbingly graphic analogy.”

“My _point_ , dear brother, is that you can actually do more good _here_. Finish your project, graduate, fine. But then _stay here_.”

Gabriel had a point. The east coast was far more traditional, and California already recognized many rights for omegas. They’d been allowing omegas to work outside the home and attend mixed-orientation colleges for nearly fifteen years. They’d just recently passed a law allowing omega-parents to maintain custody of children from broken mating relationships. But here, in New England . . .

“I’ll . . . I’ll think about it,” Castiel said.

 _Dean will be here for two more years_ , his brain supplied unhelpfully.

“I guess I can accept that. I’m pretty persuasive. Oh! I also think you should move in right away. Let’s go get your stuff!”

Castiel rolled his eyes and followed Gabriel down the stairs, but his heart was full.

 

 

 

It took a little over an hour for Gabriel and Castiel to pack up all of Castiel’s stuff. Well, it took Castiel over an hour, because Gabriel kept going through his things and teasing him or critiquing them. When they’d cleared the bedroom, he looked strangely disappointed.

“What?” Cas asked.

“I figured we’d find your massive sex toy collection. Virgin alphas are famous for their stashes.”

Cas threw a pillow at him, which Gabriel caught.

“What, am I wrong?”

“Yes.”

“About the virgin thing or the sex toy stash?”

“Both. Neither. God, you’re infuriating!”

Gabriel laughed maniacally as there was a knock on the door to the bungalow. It was probably Hannah. Castiel had sent her a text letting her know his new living arrangements.

“Come in!” Gabriel yelled before Cas could say anything. Cas rolled his eyes and shoved him.

“Well, if you’re sure! I’ll just head right on in, shall I?”

The voice was one Castiel had only heard a handful of times, but he would never forget the scent. He froze in place as President Zachariah Adler stepped in through the open door. Gabriel went rigid next to him.

“Ah, I see you’ve got a visitor! Well, maybe Mr. Novak will be so kind as to wait outside while we have a little chat, Castiel? Alpha to alpha?”

Gabriel snorted. “I guess us little ol’ betas can’t be in hearing for the big-bad-alpha convo, huh, Zackie-boy?”

Zachariah’s smarmy, but genial, expression melted into a sneer. “I won’t tell you twice, Novak. You’re in _my_ territory now.”

Gabriel held up his hands. “Oh, yessir, Mr. Alpha, sir. Consider me gone.” He clapped Cas on the shoulder. “Good luck, kid,” he murmured.

The door closed behind Gabriel, but Adler didn’t speak. He walked through the living room, taking in the small pile of boxes and personal belongings waiting to make it to Gabriel’s impractical car.

“So, tired of our hospitality already?” Adler asked. Castiel shrugged.

“I appreciate all of the kindness, but I haven’t seen my brother in a long time and he’s invited me to stay, so . . .”

“Oh, I know. Your lack of contact with that worm was one of the reasons why I could convince the board to let you do your little project. You know, they outvoted me four to one? Wanna know why you’re here _anyway_?”

“I can’t possibly imagine.”

“Because _I_ vouched for you. You owe all of this to _me_ , Novak, you understand? So, when I say ‘jump’ you say ‘how fucking high?’ You get me?”

Castiel swallowed hard, steeling himself. “With all due respect, sir, I’m an academic researcher. If my integrity is compromised, all of the work will be for naught, and your own reputation—”

“Oh, you think anything that happens to you affects my reputation? Please, like anyone gives a damn who you are or what you do. A couple of published papers in liberal publications will get you exactly _squat_ without the recommendation from someone like me. You need me, Castiel, so I suggest you toe the line. You’re already on extremely shaky ground.”

Castiel’s heart climbed into his chest, but he tilted his head and squinted in what he hoped came across as confusion. “I wasn’t aware that I’d violated any of our agreement,” he said. Zachariah sneered again.

“Well, fraternizing with the other Novak is one thing. He’s your brother, after all. But all of the crap with Bradbury? Being at the scene when those deviants were arrested? Fucking _scent marking_ the future mate of a powerful member of our board of directors, maybe? Just hypothetical, really.”

The blood drained from Castiel’s face. How could Adler possibly know? Shit, he hoped his suppressants and blockers were working as well as Gabriel thought they were, because the sheer panic he was feeling had to be permeating his scent.

“Like I said, I think at this point all I need you to say is ‘how fucking high,’ you miserable pup.”

If Adler knew, who else knew? How did he find out? Was there someone close to him, or to Dean? Would Dean be punished for this? Had he been already? Panic and bile rose in his throat as Cas recognized that Adler expected a response.

“Of course, Mr. Adler,” Castiel replied, managing to keep his voice even. “I’m just here for my project, after all.”

“Mmhmm. Well, keep it that way, or the consequences will be dire and sweeping.” Adler got up and left, leaving traces of his nauseating scent behind. Cas’s joints unfroze, and he nearly fell to the floor as blood rushed through his limbs. Gabriel came back in, noticing Castiel on his knees immediately.

“Fuck, what did that asshole do to you?” he demanded. Castiel shook his head.

“Nothing, he . . . he didn’t . . .” Castiel looked up and met the earnest eyes of his big brother, the one he’d always wished could have been there to guide and protect him during his turbulent childhood. He swallowed hard against the urge to confess everything, to have Gabriel swoop in and save the day.

But if anyone knew, if anyone else found out . . . if they moved against Adler . . . Dean could be hurt. An icy fist closed over Castiel’s heart as he imagined the omega— _his_ omega—hurt or retaliated against in some way due to Castiel’s actions.

“He, uh . . . he said I have to finish, or he’ll seize all of my research. Destroy it. He found out about the articles. He wants me gone.”

Gabriel looked suspicious, but clapped Cas on the shoulder. “All right, then. Let’s get you the hell out of here.”

Cas’s things were packed quickly, and the vice around his chest loosened the further they drove away from the bungalow. He hoped that Dean, wherever he was right now, was safe and protected from the mess that Castiel had created.

“Hey, we should be ‘The Fighting Novak Brothers,’” Gabriel said cheerfully from the driver’s seat as they pulled into his house. “Every good duo needs a name.”

“Sounds good, Gabe,” Castiel said distractedly. Step one, finish project. Step two, help omegas.

And somewhere in there, somehow forget Dean.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long again! No excuses, just real life. Thank you so much if you are still with me, or just joining! Things should go back to normal now with shorter breaks between chapters.

It took two days for Cas’s scent to fade enough for Dean to feel safe venturing out of his room. He’d returned to his room in a rush, in unfamiliar clothes, soaked in some strange alpha’s scent; it was no wonder he’d scared poor Kevin half to death.

“Dude, what the hell happened?” he’d demanded as Dean stripped for a shower. “Did you . . . did somebody force themselves . . .?”

“No, man,” Dean said abruptly, halting Kevin’s train of thought. “It was, uh . . . y’know, consensual. Just a mistake, is all.”

Kevin had continued to eye him suspiciously, but let it go. Dean had managed to hold the kid off until his scent returned to normal enough to resume his class schedule.

He used the Vinehall blockers like a shield, even more than usual, as he dressed in their trappings and went about his day. His professors and classmates didn’t seem to notice, luckily, but Dean kept his head down just in case. It wouldn’t be worth it to attract unneeded attention.

So, when Kevin burst into their room with news, Dean wasn’t quite as excited as Kevin had hoped.

“Dude, Charlie’s out!”

Dean was working on a homework assignment on Omega History (an essay on the “evolving role of the omega in the home”) and wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Huh?”

“Yeah, I know, it’s crazy! They let her go yesterday, dropped all charges. Benny and Andrea are still locked up, but apparently some big omega rights lawyer is coming in to defend them.”

“Cas’s brother,” Dean said.

“Who?”

Dean swallowed heavily, avoiding Kevin’s eyes. “It’s, um, Gabriel Novak. Cas’s brother.” He could feel Kevin’s gaze on him.

“Novak? The alpha doing that project? How do you know about his brother?” Kevin paused, but Dean didn’t answer. “Have you been hanging out with him, or . . . ?”

“No, I think he mentioned it that first time we talked, y’know?”

Kevin was suspiciously quiet. “Dude, you gotta be careful,” he said seriously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean retorted, but Kevin didn’t seem convinced.

“Yeah, okay.” Another long pause. “So, just thought I’d tell you that Charlie got out. I was gonna go see her, if you wanted.”

“I dunno, I’ve got so much homework,” Dean said, casting a glance back. In reality, Dean’s heart was fluttering madly in his chest. He couldn’t go see Charlie, couldn’t hear her talk about how Cas had helped her, what a wonderful alpha he was. He needed distance.

Because the truth was that ever since Cas’s scent had faded, a little part of Dean’s heart ached.

When Kevin went to see Charlie, Dean hadn’t intended to go anywhere or do anything in particular, but then he was suddenly wrapping up in his cool-weather wear and walking across campus.

His feet carried him to Cas’s office, where the alpha was sitting in the dark, his handsome face illuminated by the laptop screen. The entire space was soaked in his books-and-apple-pie scent. He was clearly immersed in his work, hardly noticing when Dean came in until Dean had flipped on the light.

He’d meant to thank him, maybe. To thank Castiel for calling his brother and freeing Charlie. He didn’t mean to reveal anything about his past, or to let Cas even further in than he had already. The soft look on Cas’s face when Dean had talked about his job, about Baby, burned deep in his core.

And when Cas had said the words, “You’re promised,” Dean shivered like he’d been doused in cold water. Cas’s scent grew sharper, a little sour at the words, too.

As Dean left him behind, again, carrying the scent of the alpha in the back of his nose, he thought _I wonder what we might smell like together_.

But he couldn’t think that, shouldn’t think that. This was too much, too dangerous. So what if the alpha smelled good? So what if he made Dean’s insides go squirmy and his bluer-than-blue eyes featured in more and more of Dean’s dreams lately? He needed to focus, and continuing to see Cas wasn’t going to help with that.

 

 

 

For only the second time, Dean found himself facing Crowley’s door. He knocked sharply, gathering himself with his hands behind his back, shoulders up straight. Crowley opened the door and beckoned him in without speaking. Dean perched on the edge of the chair, hands demurely in his lap as Crowley circled him and settled back in his chair behind his desk.

“Winchester,” Crowley drawled. “I think I distinctly recall advising you to be careful and to follow the rules, didn’t I?”

Dean nodded, but didn’t speak. Crowley steepled his hands and gazed at him, leaning back in his chair. “So, then, please explain to me why you were unchaperoned in the company of an unmated alpha?”

Dean’s heart dropped, but he continued to not say anything. He took deep breaths, trying to control his scent, but Crowley’s nostrils flared, clearly catching a hint of Dean’s distress. “You are here under extraordinary circumstances, Mr. Winchester. I’m sure you are every bit the imbecile you appear to be, but take my advice. Do. Not. Continue. I’m not sure if you understand precisely the predicament you find yourself in, but know this: the consequences are far more dire than you can even imagine. If you think that you’ve suffered before now, you are deluded. Zachariah Adler and Michael Milton are no angels; they will leave you in pieces if necessary.”

Dean concentrated on his lap, his hands clasped tightly. He knew all of this; he could handle it, he could be what they wanted. He could follow the rules and forget about Cas.

“I’m sure you think you’re tough, that you can ‘handle’ this,” Crowley continued, “but make no mistake. You have no concept of the kind of situation you’ve gotten yourself into. Whatever deal you’ve made, the terms are absolute. Trust me, I know deals. If you even wish to survive, you tell that alpha that everything is through and you never see him again. Do I make myself clear?”

Dean nodded, mouth dry. Crowley adjusted his chair to lean a bit more forward.

“Good. Now, we have the winter social to discuss. Tradition states that all unmated omegas must attend the social events in the fall and spring. This normally does not include promised students, but I have received a special request from your alpha that you attend. He will send your attire to your room, and you are to make an appearance.”

Dean blanched. He had heard stories about the socials from his friends who were second and third year students. They were awful, apparently; desperate omegas threw themselves at unmated alphas in attendance, and the alphas passed them around as though they were great entertainment. He’d thought he could avoid it, one positive thing to come from being promised.

“Did you hear me, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean glanced up, startled. Crowley had one eyebrow raised at him, so Dean quickly averted his gaze and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, get out of my sight.”

Dean went back to his room, avoiding the quad as usual in case he ran into Cas. Kevin was there, typing away on his computer.

“Hey,” Dean said.

“How was Crowley?” Kevin asked.

“Oh, you know, creepy as fuck, intimidating as hell. And I have to go to the social, apparently.”

Kevin turned in his chair. “Really? But you’re promised. What’s your alpha gonna think?”

Dean shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I guess he wants me to be there. He’s gonna send me a suit and everything.”

Kevin’s eyebrows shot up. “So . . . is he going to be there?” Dean shrugged again.

“I mean, probably? Crowley didn’t say, but he did make sure I knew how important it was that I, um . . . steer clear of Cas.”

“Dude, maybe he wants to go public.”

Dean shuddered. He hadn’t considered that. So far, he’d only met with Michael the once since he’d gotten here, but now the first semester was rapidly coming to a close, and as much as Dean appreciated being left alone, it was likely that Michael would want to get to know his future companion and possible mate.

“Well, if you guys do go public, you know what that means,” Kevin said. Dean’s confusion must have shown on his face because Kevin rolled his eyes. “You are so hopeless. If he’s taking you public, then you’ll be, like, officially his. He’ll probably take you to events and stuff, take you out to dinner, y’know, typical courting stuff. Most alphas don’t get that serious unless they’re gonna mate the omega.”

Dean swallowed hard enough for his throat to click. “He, uh, told me I’d get his bite and a ring someday, so . . .”

Kevin’s eyebrows proceeded to disappear into his hair. “Wow, dude. You are so fucked.”

Dean could do nothing but nod.

“Hey, bright side, though? You can go with me, Gilda, and Sarah.”

 

 

 

“I look ridiculous.”

“No way!” Sarah exclaimed as Dean looked at his reflection. “You look _hot_.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t objectify me.”

Sarah tossed a pillow at him and rolled her eyes. Gilda giggled from her spot on the small sofa as Kevin stumbled out of his room.

“Fuck this stupid tie,” he muttered, fumbling with his bowtie. Sarah took pity on him and helped him tie it properly before turning back to Dean.

“Kevin, please tell Dean he looks fabulous,” she said. Kevin looked up and shrugged.

“I dunno, dude. You’re not my type.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Michael had sent what was probably a fantastically expensive tuxedo, which had caused Dean to panic about being overdressed before Sarah had turned up in a blood red sequined evening gown. Gilda was also wearing a beautiful dress, hers a champagne floaty material. Dean didn’t want to know how Michael had managed to get the suit to fit so perfectly, but Dean could admit it was cut well. In fact, if he wasn’t heading straight into what was most likely a snake pit, he might even be able to admit he looked good.

_If only Cas were going to be there . . ._

The social was held in the large ballroom of the administration building, so after they’d bundled up against the cold night air, the four omegas made their way across campus. A small stream of other omegas in various evening attire were already climbing the steps, chatting excitedly. Dean felt his dread like a cold lump in his stomach.

The ballroom was lit with the soft glow of candlelight, gentle music drifting from a string ensemble in the far corner. It was hardly crowded; from the overwhelming smell of violet scent blockers, the room was also overwhelmingly full of omegas. Sarah had warned them that alphas would be few and far between, which meant they could successfully stick to themselves all night and not be judged for it.

Except Dean, if Michael showed up.

A few alphas near the refreshment table were eyeing Gilda with interest, so Dean folded her hand into his elbow. She glanced up at him gratefully.

The party was, to be honest, completely and utterly boring. He watched as clouds of demure omegas strategically placed themselves close to clusters of alphas. Dean and his friends navigated their way through these groups, using them to get as far away from the alphas as they could. Gilda, still on Dean’s arm, pointed out prominent alphas that she recognized as they passed.

“Oh, that’s Josie Sands, she’s one of the most sought-after white-collar defense and property lawyers in the state. They call her ‘Abaddon, the Destroyer.’ And that’s Eldon Styne, the middle Styne son. He has his own consulting firm, but rumor has it he’s still after Daddy’s money.”

“Who’s got it?”

“His older brother Jacob, but he’s mated already. My family considered them for me, but they’re . . . well, awful, to be honest.”

Dean watched as the endless parade of omegas flitted past, trailing after the alphas like so many scraps . . .

“I need some air,” Dean said. He ignored Gilda’s concerned look, glancing over to where Sarah was teaching Kevin to lead on the dance floor before heading out onto the small balcony.

It was cold out, the air crisp and sky clear. All of the stars looked brighter than usual as Dean looked up, taking a deep breath.

He needed to talk to Sam. It had been too long, and he needed to be reassured that his brother was happy. That Dean was doing the right thing.

If he hadn’t been distracted, Dean would have smelled him before he saw him, but as it was he didn’t notice until a familiar figure in a shabby suit drifted into his periphery.

“Dean?”

Dean started, hugging himself against the cold as he turned and backed away from his unexpected companion.

“Cas,” Dean breathed. It hadn’t been even a week, Dean was sure of it, but it was like he hadn’t breathed properly since. Cas’s brows were knitted together in confusion, but all Dean registered was _relief_.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked. Cas held up a notebook.

“It seemed pertinent to my research,” he said. “What are you . . . I thought only the omegas that hadn’t been promised yet would attend.”

Dean’s heart twisted at the word “promised.” “My, um . . . the alpha that I’m . . . _he_ wanted me to be here.” He plucked nervously at his sleeve. “He sent me this tux, actually.”

Cas gazed at him, guarded, but something appreciative in his eyes. “You look dashing,” Cas said.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Dean said. Cas looked at his own suit as though he didn’t even realize what he was wearing.

“It is serviceable,” he said. They fell silent, but Dean’s gaze drifted to Cas’s mouth, and his lips tingled with the memory of the kiss that they never should have shared. He wondered if Cas was thinking the same thing, if maybe that kiss had haunted him as much as it haunted Dean, pushed into the darkest recesses of his mind to bring out during his next heat . . .

“Are you . . . are you well, Dean?” Cas asked. Dean’s eyes flicked back up to Cas’s, flushing at getting caught staring.

“I’m fine,” Dean managed, though it came out a bit husky. He cleared his throat. “How is your project going?”

“Well enough,” Cas sighed. “If I can perhaps persuade Naomi, I might need more time here.”

“Do you not have enough stuff?” Dean ventured. He hadn’t been able to help Cas directly, not really, but he’d sent as many of his friends Cas’s way as possible. But, of course it hadn’t been enough. Dean didn’t exactly mix with everyone at the school, and a project like Cas’s needed more than Dean could contribute—

“I have plenty of material,” Cas said, interrupting Dean’s thoughts. “I could always use more, though. It’s never going to really be _enough_. Not until every omega has a place to tell their own story; for their own voice to matter.”

Dean’s heart raced, electricity flashing through his veins. Here, at Vinehall, Cas was declaring his respect for omegas and their personhood. The fire in his eyes was unmistakable, fire that Dean wished he could inspire there.

“You’re amazing, Cas,” Dean said. Cas’s gaze flickered toward him briefly, a flush gathering on his cheeks.

“I’m just an academic,” he returned, dismissing it. Dean shook his head.

“No. No, take it from someone who . . . whose entire existence has been defined by being less . . . You’re a rare alpha, Cas Novak.”

Cas stared at him for a while, eyes illuminated by the soft light coming from the ballroom. Dean felt like he was being examined, but instead of backing down he stared back, meeting Cas’s gaze with answering strength.

The music inside changed, from a bright, upbeat tune to a slower waltz. Dean took a chance, feet moving forward almost on their own, until he was right at Cas’s side.

“Could you, um . . .” he trailed off, his eyes surveying Cas’s face. Bright eyes, chapped lips, flushed cheeks. “Would you like . . .?” He couldn’t finish.

“Dean,” Cas breathed. “Dean, would you dance with me?”

Dean nodded, and Cas set his notebook aside. Cas reached for Dean, tentative at first, placing a careful hand on Dean’s waist and grasping Dean’s hand with the other. Dean’s tux was good quality, made of thick wool, but Cas’s hand was warm, like a brand searing his skin through the layers of fabric. His skin tingled where their hands met, and his breath flew out of him in a rush when Cas pulled them closer together.

“It’s a proper dancing hold, Dean,” Cas said, though he sounded breathless, too.

Dean had learned to dance in his etiquette class, ballroom dances learned alone while an omega instructor taught them how to properly follow an alpha. But here, in the moonlight with Cas, he could barely feel his own limbs, let alone remember the steps. They ended up swaying, sort of, some semblance of dance steps between them. Dean’s heart raced.

He’d never felt so safe. Never felt so protected, _warm_ and _held_. The scent of apple pie and old books surrounded him, deepening and sweetening the longer they were together. The sharp notes of nutmeg and cloves became stronger, and finally underneath, something else. Intangible, undefinable.

_Home_.

_Safe_.

_Mate_.

Dean dropped Cas’s hand as though he’d been shocked. The look Cas was giving him was unreadable, so Dean couldn’t know if he’d scented it, too, but Dean could feel panic squeezing around his heart.

“Um, thanks, Cas,” he fumbled, pushing the alpha away. _Don’t run, don’t make the alpha chase you_ , reverberated in his head.

“Dean, wait—”

Dean pushed his way back into the ballroom, hoping to get as far away as possible. He didn’t see if any of his friends noticed, and he’d nearly made it to the door when he slammed into a scent that hit him like a brick wall.

“Dean!”

Zachariah was standing near the front of the room, a glass of champagne in hand, his scent thick with pride. If he’d had wings, they would have been puffed out like his chest. Dean stopped, struggling to get his breathing under control.

“President Adler,” he said, inclining his head. He placed his hands behind his back and kept his head bowed, working to get his panic under control. If Adler scented it, or if, oh _god_ , what if he smelled Cas? They’d been close, they’d been touching, what if he’d been scent-marked again?

“Dean,” came a less familiar, though no less panic-inducing voice. Dean raised his eyes barely, then inclined his head again in a gesture of respect.

“Mr. Milton,” he said. Michael smiled.

“Zach, if you’ll excuse me. I’d like to dance with my omega.”

The weight of the statement settled heavily on the small group of alphas and Dean. A public dance, even here within the confines of Vinehall, was a declaration. Acceptance on Dean’s part meant acceptance of Michael’s courtship.

First the gifts, now a public dance. Dean was in _way_ over his head.

_You can do this. Think about Sam. Think about Bobby_.

Michael offered his arm, and with only a moment of hesitation, Dean accepted. He allowed himself be led onto the dance floor and pulled into a tight dance hold. The irony of the situation was not lost on Dean. Michael’s arms were strong, but his hands were cold. Dean could still feel the heat of Cas’s hand in his own, but it was quickly replaced with the cool, smooth feeling of Michael’s. Michael led them gracefully around the dance floor, which slowly emptied of couples as they realized what was happening.

“You look wonderful tonight, Dean,” Michael murmured, close to Dean’s ear. Dean shivered at the feeling of Michael’s breath ruffling his hair and hoped Michael would misinterpret it.

“Thank you, sir,” Dean said.

“They all can see you, you know,” Michael continued. “How beautiful you are. How much you belong to me.”

They were alone on the dance floor now, and Dean could steal glances at the crowd. Sarah, Gilda, and Kevin all wore identical looks of pity, or perhaps sadness. A few omegas looked jealous, others simply bored. The alphas either smiled encouragement at Michael, or had drifted away for their own business.

“Dean, this is the beginning of something wonderful, for your future and mine,” Michael said. “Don’t throw this away.”

Dean tensed under those words, and then he saw it.

Cas, standing near the balcony with his notebook clutched in his hands. His suit even shabbier in the candlelight, staring at Dean as he danced, a look of mourning on his face.

Something tiny broke inside Dean, and he tore his own gaze away from Cas. Michael spun them in a circle, the crowd blurring together.

When the music ended, the crowd applauded and Dean inclined his head again. Michael smiled and touched his cheek, then moved away to rejoin Adler and a few of the other board members, leaving Dean alone and cold in the middle of the floor.

Everyone else in attendance gave him a wide berth, moving around him both as though he were invisible and untouchable. This was his life now.

_For Sam_.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, folks! All of my amazing readers, thank you!! 
> 
> Warning for Cas having a panic attack at the beginning of the chapter.
> 
> It also ends on a little bit of a cliffhanger. I'm sorry! The next chapter will have a bit of Dean's POV from before the cliffhanger, and then go directly into the next part.

Castiel was frozen to the spot. Dean moved away, the crowd parting to let him pass and then filling in behind him, obscuring him from view. Cas’s breath was coming shorter and shallower, his vision narrowing. He needed to move, needed to leave, before he had a panic attack in the middle of the Vinehall ballroom.

Someone laughed as they passed him on their way out onto the balcony, and Cas’s body unlocked. Immediately, he exited as quickly as he could without attracting too much attention. He fled down the steps of the administration building and rushed to his car. It was all he could do the entire time to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, deep breaths in and out.

He was shaking when he pulled into Gabriel’s driveway. He carefully, deliberately, put the car in park, turned off the engine, and pulled the keys from the ignition. As he climbed the steps to the front door, though, his composure started to slip.

His fingers felt far too large and uncoordinated, his hands shaking, rattling the keys in his hand as he fumbled to get them in the door. After a few minutes of this, Castiel winced as the porch light flashed on and nearly fell through the door when Gabriel pulled it open from the inside.

“Wow, I guess they must serve the good shit at Vinehall parties. Remind me to get myself invited next time!”

Cas stumbled past Gabriel and into the entryway, but had no idea what to do next. Gabriel chuckled. “Seriously, Cassie, how much have you had? Should you have driven home?” Cas shook his head.

“I—I didn’t drink,” he managed, trying to tuck his rattling keys into his pocket. Gabriel frowned, reaching out to grab them.

“What the fuck, Castiel? Shit, you’re _shaking_ —”

Something tight had gripped Castiel’s lungs, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. He reached up to press a hand to his chest, but Gabriel grabbed his arm instead, pulling him into the living room. Gabe pushed him down onto the sofa and forced his head between his knees.

“Deep breaths, Cassie,” he said, rubbing Cas’s back. “In through the nose, out through your mouth. Jesus, did somebody roofie you?”

Cas shook his head as best he could with it hanging limp from his shoulders. As questionable as it was, Gabriel’s advice seemed to be helping. It only took a handful of minutes of deep breathing for Castiel’s panic to start to recede. His breathing steadied and the spots disappeared from his vision, enough that he could slowly press his way back to sitting. Once the dizziness passed, exhaustion hit him and he collapsed against the sofa.

“What the hell happened?” Gabriel asked.

“I believe it was a panic attack,” Cas droned wryly. Gabriel hit him on the shoulder, hard.

“I know that, you ass. I meant what caused it.”

But Cas couldn’t say. Not yet. Whenever he thought about Dean, about the alpha who had his arms around the omega, the tremor returned to his hands. He shook his head.

“Okay, Cassie,” Gabriel said, and Cas was surprised at the lack of fight. “I’m gonna get you some water, okay? I’ll be right back.”

While Gabriel was gone, Castiel continued to focus on his breath. He felt like he could fill his lungs again, sucking in deep lungfuls of sweet, refreshing air. The ballroom had been stifling, despite the chill outdoors. All of the scents were overwhelming, and he’d had to step onto the balcony to clear his head. Hannah had insisted that the fall social would be a perfect research opportunity, so he had gone. He’d planned to spend the entire night in a quiet corner, taking whatever relevant notes he could, then leaving at the earliest opportunity.

Then he’d scented Dean on the balcony in the clear, cold evening air. It had smelled stronger than before, Dean’s scent like coming home. It had been so difficult to resist temptation. Cas had actually been proud of himself that all he’d asked for was a dance. Cas wasn’t very good, but Dean was light on his feet, clearly a novice but expertly trained . . .

“So,” Gabriel said, sitting down next to Cas and pressing a glass of water into his hands. “How was the party?”

Cas glared at his brother. “Gabriel, I will stab you,” Castiel growled. Gabriel laughed again.

“Very witty,” Gabe said. “Seriously. Cas. What happened?”

Cas’s limbs weighed him down as he sipped at the water. How much should he reveal to Gabriel? He couldn’t, wouldn’t, betray Dean’s confidences, as few as they were. Gabriel continued to stare. Cas spoke to his water glass.

“There is . . . an omega,” he began.

“I fucking _knew_ it!” Gabriel exclaimed, grinning. “I knew you couldn’t set an eligible alpha like you loose in that henhouse without _somebody_ getting all scent-drunk!”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

Gabriel settled. “Sorry. My lips are zipped, little bro.”

Cas glared at him, but continued. “We aren’t . . . there isn’t anything like that between us. There can’t be. He was there tonight, and . . . we hardly know each other, but I can _scent him_ , even with the suppressants in me. There was an _incident_ a few weeks ago, and I’ve tried to distance myself, but I . . .”

“Oh, Cassie,” Gabriel breathed. Cas scrubbed his free hand down his face.

“He’s promised,” Cas continued bitterly. “I knew that, I’ve always known that, but tonight . . . Gabe, I panicked, I saw _him_ and I just . . . I always knew it was a possibility, running in to him here, but I’ve been so careful to keep a distance and then D—the _omega_ was there, in his arms and . . .”

“Whoa, hey, deep breaths.” Castiel was struggling to catch his breath again. Dean was in trouble. Dean was in so much trouble and Cas couldn’t help him. “You don’t have to say if you don’t—”

“Gabe, it’s Michael. Michael Milton. He’s promised to _Michael_ and . . . _fuck_.”

Gabriel whistled low between his teeth, but didn’t say anything. Cas nodded and took another drink of water.

“I think he’s in trouble, Gabriel,” Cas said. “I don’t know enough to know for sure, but . . .”

“Michael is bad news, yeah.”

“What do you know about the Vinehall scholarship program?”

Gabriel looked confused. “There isn’t one. Not as far as I know. Sometimes omegas are granted admission based on their talent, rather than their family, but anyone who says ‘scholarship’ is using a giant euphemism for ‘sponsorship,’ and those don’t come free. Why?”

“My, _this_ omega, I mean. He didn’t come from a wealthy family. His family name isn’t one I recognize.”

“He could be from money on the other side. Or maybe they saved?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.” Gabriel sighed.

“Well, I hope for your _friend’s_ sake that he isn’t being sponsored. I’ve met omegas in that situation before, and it isn’t pretty.”

All of the color drained from Castiel’s face and he had to work on his breathing again. Too many questions were spinning in his head, ones that he wouldn’t ever get an answer to. Besides, Dean was not his concern. Despite their few interactions, and the kiss . . . Dean was not, nor would he ever be, any responsibility of Castiel’s.

_No matter how much you want him to be._

 

 

 

Castiel woke the next morning to a world blanketed in white. The snow had been late in coming this year, from what the locals said. To Cas, whose recent experiences with snow had been rather sparse, it seemed like someone had muted the entire universe. Gabriel had been up early to go to work preparing the case for the LaFittes, so Cas found that the driveway had already been shoveled. Nevertheless, Cas didn’t want to risk driving in such unfamiliar conditions. The house was only a couple of miles from the school, so Castiel set out to walk.

It was drudgery, walking in the snow. It wasn’t particularly thick, but it caked on his boots and made his feet heavy. By the time Castiel got to his office, he was sweaty underneath his layers and exhausted. Perhaps he could get Hannah to give him a ride back when they were done.

But the office was dark, and the door locked. In fact, the entire campus was completely silent. It seemed to Castiel that he had slipped into some sort of alternate world. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. The lights flickered on at his entrance, and it was warm in the empty space. He breathed in deeply, and noticed the air was a little stale. No one had been in today, then. Shrugging, Cas unwrapped himself and draped his damp outerwear over the coat rack by the door. At least if it was going to be this quiet and empty today, he could work on transcription without having to keep his headphones in.

He checked his email first, hoping to have heard from Naomi. His inbox contained only the usual newsletters and group updates from the university, along with a brief message from Hannah that she had caught a cold and wouldn’t make it in to work today. With no interviews scheduled, Castiel thought he might transcribe for a few hours and then make his way back home. He was already dreading the walk back.

The last interview with Kevin Tran had been a full forty-five minutes, so it was going to take quite a while to transcribe. Cas had gotten used to the speech patterns of some of their regular participants, so he was actually cutting down his usual transcription time significantly. The Tran, Fay, and Blake files were all pretty large. Large enough, in fact, that Castiel would soon be able to start compiling and processing the data into his final project. He still needed the extension from Naomi to continue gathering data, but if he simply stayed with Gabriel, instead of returning to California . . .

Sometime in the afternoon, the door opened bringing a blast of cold air with it. Castiel looked up to chastise whoever it was, but his rebuke caught in his throat.

“Hi, Cas.”

Dean stood just inside the door, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes shining bright and particularly green today against the thick mauve scarf he had wrapped around his throat. He was clutching a pair of very familiar notebooks in his gloved hands.

“I, um . . .” Dean continued when Castiel didn’t reply. “I saw these last night on the balcony, after you left. I thought you probably didn’t want anyone reading them, so I grabbed ‘em.” Cas continued to stare. “Uh, here.”

Dean moved toward the desk, gesturing with the notebooks to show Cas what he was doing, then dropped them in front of the speechless alpha. Their eyes met and gazes locked.

“I guess I’ll go,” Dean said softly. “It was, uh.” He cleared his throat. “I liked seeing you, last night.”

That shook Cas from his trance. “Dean, what are you doing?” Cas asked.

“I thought I was dropping off your notebooks. Um, you’re welcome?” Cas shook his head.

“No, I mean, what the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Dean’s eyes flew wide. “You can’t be here. You can’t _come_ here. This is incredibly inappropriate, and—shit, we don’t even have a chaperone, and—”

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Dean said, backing up with his hands raised in front of his chest. “What do you think is gonna happen?”

“Something already _did_ happen, Dean, and . . . They will be monitoring you so closely, you have no idea. I am willing to bet that every move you’ve made since you came here has been watched and recorded. Oh, god, that’s probably how they knew about the kiss, anyway . . .”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dean, you need to go. Thank you so much for your participation, and . . . and . . . returning my notebooks. Please, just . . . go.”

Confusion and hurt shone in Dean’s eyes as Cas tried to turn back to his computer. “Dude, wh—I thought . . . What do you mean they knew?”

“I think it’s best that we . . . that you and I . . .” Cas’s inner alpha rebelled at the thought of pushing his omega away. All he wanted was to gather Dean in his arms and tell him it would be okay, that they would be safe. But they couldn’t, not now that he knew. “Dean, please just _go_.”

Instead of leaving, though, Dean circled the desk, getting even closer to Cas in his office chair.

“Look, I’m the first one to say that I can’t get close to people. Fuck, nobody here actually knows a damn thing about me except—But no, I ain’t leavin’ until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

Cas jumped to his feet. “They knew, Dean. They knew that I—that you—that we _kissed_ and then I was so stupid and I marked you, and they _know_ and I can’t—You’re promised to _Michael Milton_ and you have no idea—”

Dean’s face went white. “You saw?” he asked.

“Yes, Dean, I saw him put his public claim on you last night. You’re being courted by my b—boss’s _son_ , Dean. By the most powerful alpha in the entire country, and I have no idea how you ended up in his sights, but you have no idea how much danger we are in right now and that is unacceptable to me.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean spat bitterly. “Self-preservation, right?”

Cas wanted to scream, to shake him, to tell him that no, it had nothing whatsoever to do with self-preservation, but he bit his tongue. He was attempting to save Dean, not drag him down further.

“Dean, _please_ ,” he begged. They were close now, too close, but Cas needed him to understand. “Michael . . . he . . . he doesn’t like to share his things.”

Dean swallowed, and Cas could track the movement of his muscles until they disappeared beneath the thick scarf. “He owns me now,” Dean breathed. Cas nodded.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered back. Dean sucked his cheeks in, adorable dimples forming at the corners of his frown as he looked down at the floor.

“I’m nobody, Cas,” Dean continued. Cas shook his head.

“No,” he managed, balling his hands into fists to keep from reaching out. “No, you aren’t.”

Kissing Dean then would have been easy as breathing, but Cas managed to stay still. His heart ached as a single tear escaped the omega’s beautiful eyes before he wiped at it furiously.

“What the hell is happening here?” Dean asked softly. Cas shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “But it’s dangerous.”

Dean’s shining eyes caught Cas’s. “At least I know I ain’t alone,” he said.

Cas watched Dean leave then, looking as forlorn as Cas felt. Once he was gone, Cas collapsed back into his chair and sank his head into his hands. After a long while, he wiped at his face, then turned to gather the notebooks Dean had left behind. As he shifted to put them away, he noticed that they smelled faintly like Dean. He couldn’t help but inhale deeply, wrapping himself in that scent.

The walk home felt twice as long.

 

 

 

The next day, a knock interrupted Cas from his transcription work at home. He turned to see Gabe leaning against the door with a grin on his face. Cas removed his headphones and sent him a quizzical look.

“Hey, I got a guest I think you might like to see,” he said, then turned and walked away without further explanation. Curious, Cas followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Red-haired Charlie Bradbury sat at the kitchen table, holding a mug of coffee and quirking an eyebrow at Cas.

“He cool?” she asked Gabriel. Gabe shot a look at Cas and nodded. “Okay. I mean, a girl’s gotta ask. The one time she meets up with a dude she ends up arrested? Not a great first impression.”

“I assure you, I was not the one who called the police,” he said.

“I know,” Charlie said. “I mean, you kinda are the one who saved my ass by calling big brother here.”

“I didn’t know how else to help. It was the right thing to do.”

“Well, thanks.”

Cas dipped his head in her direction. “You’re very welcome.”

“Cassie, pull up a chair and sit a spell,” Gabriel said, gesturing for Cas to join them.

“Are you sure this isn’t violating lawyer-client privilege?”

“Nope,” Charlie said, popping the “p” at the end. “This is strictly non-professional.”

Castiel sat at the table with them cautiously. “Okay, so what is this about?”

“I’m organizing a rally for omega rights in January, and I wanted to ask if you could share some of your research with the crowd.”

Well, that was blunt. “No,” Castiel said.

“Hear me out! I don’t want you to violate any confidentiality clauses, or compromise your findings, but . . . look, okay, so Gilda wants to help _so bad_ , but with her family, her hands are tied, you know? So I thought, maybe there are other Vinehall omegas that want to be part of this but _can’t_ and then I thought, what about you? You’ve got all kinds of stories that would be perfect to share at a rally like this!”

Castiel sighed tightly though his nose. “Charlie, the entire point of my project is for omegas to tell their own stories. If you or I stand up and read them, they immediately become something far different. It’s a basic tenet of ethnography that—”

“Okay, okay. Yeesh, layman’s terms, please. I don’t talk technobabble at you.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at her. “The words on the page can be the speaker’s voice. The omega, in this case. If I, or anyone else, were to read them aloud, then they are immediately being heard in _my_ voice. It’s a nuance, yes, but an important one. But that is beside the point. I cannot use any of the research I have gathered for any additional purposes.”

Charlie pinched her lips together in thought. “Okay, so what about this: you use your talents and expertise in interviews to gather _other_ omega stories, ones that want to share but are too scared or shy to do so themselves. That way, they know _exactly_ what their words are being used for, and you don’t have to violate your research?”

Castiel considered that for a moment. “That . . . that could work,” he admitted. “But, I’m not sure if I can do the interviews. We’d have to have a space, and time set aside, and my time is running out here anyway—”

“Not if you take me up on my deal!” Gabriel interjected.

“And I can’t let this take away from finishing my project,” Castiel finished.

“Wait, that sounds like you’ll do it?” asked Charlie. Castiel inclined his head.

“I will . . . think about it,” he replied. She grinned.

“Castiel, you are the _best_!”

 

 

 

Word traveled fast, and before Castiel had even actually agreed to help, they had set up a small recording area in Gabriel’s enormous garage. They set up space heaters, a computer desk, and a few comfortable chairs, and it wasn’t long before Castiel was installed in the space and, once again, interviewing omegas.

“Sarah,” Cas said, greeting the stunning omega once again. She smiled tightly at him, and Cas’s own smile faltered. The last time they’d met, she had been warning him away from Dean. He hadn’t managed to keep his distance very well since then, but he was trying now. Even if there was a voice in the back of his head begging him to rescue Dean from Michael . . .

“Hello, Castiel,” Sarah replied, bringing Cas back to the present.

“So, this is a much more relaxed situation,” Cas said. “I just want you to know, we will be sharing these stories at the rally. Would you mind agreeing to having your words repeated in the rally situation described? Out loud, please, so we have it on tape?”

“I agree to have my story shared at the omega rally,” Sarah said clearly.

“Thank you,” Castiel said. “Now, Sarah, what would you like to share?”

Immediately, Cas knew these interviews would be different. Before, Sarah had been clinically detached, describing her circumstances almost in the third person, as though they happened to a sample of omegas, instead of directly to her. Now, Sarah was passionate, open, and above all, _angry_.

“I have worked closely with alphas my entire life, and I will tell you that I have always been considered at least as intelligent as they are, if not more so. But suddenly, I have a heat, and I am told I am less than, I have my knowledge questioned, and I have opportunities taken from me. The switch is immediate and completely arbitrary. What changed about me from one day to the next? Absolutely nothing, except the value that I hold for my family.”

Several unfamiliar omegas came, some clutching their mates, others boldly striding into the space alone, all confidence. Not limited to the denizens of Vinehall, Castiel got to meet a far-ranging group from the surrounding town. Charlie helped maintain the sessions, and was such a bubbly presence that Cas almost wished Hannah had been able to set his participants at ease as handily.

Hours passed, and Castiel knew he would have his work cut out for him with the amount of tape he’d recorded that day. Charlie helped pack up after the last omega, but just as he was about to follow her into the house someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Cas called, and was nearly knocked to his feet as the scent washed over him.

“Hi,” Dean said quietly, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replied, a little shaken. “What are you doing here?”

Dean shrugged. “Heard you needed omegas,” he grunted. “Wanted to help.”

“That’s very kind of you, Dean, but I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

Dean shrugged again. He looked small today, but perhaps that was because the last time Cas had seen him he’d been wrapped in layers. Now, he was only wearing a soft-looking t-shirt and a pair of designer jeans with a wet hem. Briefly, Cas wondered if he had walked here.

“I’m an omega, right?” Dean said defiantly, still staring at the ground. “I got a story. Wanna tell it.”

“Dean—”

But Dean pushed right into the garage where it was warm, and his scent suddenly filled the space enough to make Cas nearly giddy on it. Still not looking up, Dean plopped down in a chair and only then did he look up at Cas with fire in his eyes. Cas sighed.

“Okay, Dean, if you want. Let me go get Charlie—”

“No,” Dean said, stopping him. “If I’m gonna . . . only you, Cas.”

This was a terrible idea, but Castiel couldn’t deny him anything, especially not when he was so close and so warm, his scent filling Cas up from head to toe. So, Cas nodded.

“All right,” he said softly, closing the door and moving back to his own chair with the digital recorder. He sat, adjusting himself so he was as comfortable as he was going to get, given the situation, then pressed play on the recorder.

“Dean,” he said, watching Dean’s shoulders stiffen. “We are going to use the stories collected to share at the omega rights rally in January. I’d like you to verbally acknowledge that you are consenting to have us share your story in public, with or without your presence on that day. Do you understand the situation and agree that we may use the information gathered here?”

Dean looked up at him, and Cas’s heart nearly stopped. His eyes were red-rimmed, as though he’d been crying, and shining brightly in the dimly-lit garage. They bored into his soul, and Cas’s ears began to ring so badly that he almost missed Dean’s assent.

“I agree.”

Cas nodded. “Then, Dean, tell me. What story would you like to share?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep comments civil! Thank you!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long, unplanned hiatus! Things should get back to normal now. Thank you for sticking with me and this story!
> 
> We pick up part of the way through the last chapter, after Dean leaves Cas's office.
> 
> Warnings (sorta spoilery, so be warned for that, too): the not-so-nice tags are coming into play with Michael. Nothing sexual happens, but Dean is made to feel very uncomfortable and there is some definitely uninvited touching (of a non-sexually explicit nature -- see end notes for more details) and a major power imbalance here. Dean does not consent to these things. This is where attempted assault/nonconsensual intimacy come into play. There is no sex or sexual contact between Dean and Michael (nor will there be), but things are not okay and it is at the very least harassment.

“Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ ,” Dean muttered, hurrying away from Cas’s office. Of course Cas was right. Meeting with him was extremely dangerous, especially after Michael’s dance. Dean wasn’t even sure what had brought him there . . .

Except, actually, he knew exactly why: an engraved invitation in a gilded envelope that was still sitting on his bed. The moment he’d gotten it, he had dropped it and fled, as though it could explode at any moment. It was the haze of blind panic that drove him to Cas’s door.

_Your presence is requested on behalf of Mr. Michael Milton to a dinner hosted by the Vinehall School Board of Directors._

Dinner. With Michael. Following the fiasco that was the fall social, this invitation made Dean’s blood run cold. He hadn’t been thinking, and then ended up in the last possible place he should have been.

God, Cas smelled amazing. That stupid apples-and-spices scent was even thicker today than it had been a week ago. Dean’s body had obviously officially kicked the last of the suppressants, because every inch of him had been reacting to the pure _Alpha_ oozing from Castiel in his office. He’d wanted to throw his arms around Cas, bury his face in his neck and breathe that scent in from the source. And Cas was on suppressants . . . Dean shuddered to think how he might react if he wasn’t.

_Your presence is requested . . ._

Dean grabbed fistfuls of his hair and tugged against the thought, a growl starting deep in his chest. What the hell was he doing?

_. . . on behalf of Mr. Michael Milton . . ._

Shit, Dean was losing it. He needed . . . he should . . .

Sam. He needed to talk to Sam.

 

 

 

It wasn’t until the Skype call tone had been ringing for a few minutes that Dean realized Sam might not be available to talk today. Fuck, what day even was it? Dean had stomped back into his dorm room in a much more determined haze than he’d left it. He went straight to his desk to open his laptop without even sparing a thought for his bed and called up Sam’s contact info. Dean had shed all of his winter outerwear, tossing it into a pile on his mattress, before he settled into his chair and it occurred to him that Sam might not pick up. A panicky sweat started on his forehead as he hovered over the “end call” button.

Sam’s face appeared.

“Dean?”

Dean let go of a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Heya, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam. What’s going on?”

“Oh, uh, nothin’. Nothing. Just been a while, thought I’d call.”

Sam’s face twisted in a skeptical look. “Uh, sure. Um . . . you okay?”

Dean swallowed hard. This was a terrible idea. He had to redirect. “I’m peachy, Sammy. Hey, how’s school going?”

Sam didn’t look like he would let it go that easily, but mercifully he didn’t pursue it. “It’s good. Finals next week, then I’m going home for the break, I think. Will I see you for Christmas?”

“I, uh. I don’t think so. School rules and all.” As if Zachariah would let him out of his sight for even a second. Sam didn’t look pleased.

“Right. Dude, what is up with that school?”

“It’s an Omega school, Sammy. You know what they’re like.”

Sam had fought him pretty hard when he’d found out where Dean was going next. It hadn’t helped that Dean couldn’t tell him a thing about why he was actually at Vinehall.

“So, you ready for finals, then? Got a study group or whatever you nerds do?”

Sam blushed. “Shut up. You’re one to talk. It’s not like they let just anybody into _Vinehall_ , anyway. You should see the looks I get here when I tell them my big brother goes to the best Omega school in the country.”

_Yeah, they all probably think I’m a frickin’ prostitute_. “Biology sent me here, ‘s got nothin’ to do with brains. Hey, speaking of biology, you got any cute beta girls in that study group of yours?”

It had been a complete non sequitur, but Sam flushed beet red from his shirt collar to his floppy hair, and Dean knew he’d hit on something big. It was pretty easy to get Sam to start rambling about _Jessica_ , a gorgeous, tall, curly-haired beta in one of his Freshman literature classes. She apparently gave Sam a hard time, which made Dean guffaw, laughing harder than he had in a long time. Certainly since he’d been locked away at school.

They talked for an hour, Dean’s cheeks hurting from all the smiling he was doing, before Sam cut him off.

“Listen, I’ve gotta go. Some scholarship lunch thing. Apparently I have to go say thanks to the donors or something.”

The blood drained from Dean’s face. “Those rich assholes actually show up?” Dean asked, throat dry. Sam shook his head.

“No, just the leaders of the foundations. Not the rich assholes, just the people who make the rich assholes look human.” Dean nodded.

“Well, you’d better go. I know it takes at least two hours to do your hair.”

“Shut up.”

Dean manages to chuckle as they say good-bye, but as soon as Sam signs off, anxiety swells back up inside him. The invitation still sits on his bed, covered by his winter clothes, but Sam is going to a scholarship lunch today for a scholarship that’s only possible because of it. Because of what it represents.

_“I can take care of you, if you let me. I’ll take care of your whole family. Just say ‘yes.’”_

Dean shivered, then pulled the invitation out from where it was hidden. In a moment of irony not lost on him, he checked the RSVP box marked “yes,” then put it in its little envelope to deliver to the main administration building later.

 

 

 

Dean squirmed in his chair, teeth on edge for an unimaginable number of reasons, but mostly because of the competing alpha scents around him. He’d been tucked away into a corner of the table, near three other omegas, all of whom were nibbling on their plates of food daintily. Dean had tried to remember all of the etiquette lessons he’d been attempting to absorb all semester, but he still had to ask the omega to his right which was the salad fork.

Now, further down the table, Zachariah was holding court with the other members of the board. His balding head was thrown back in raucous laughter as Dick Roman chuckled beside him, teeth bared like a predator. Closer to Dean’s end of the table, Abaddon was seated across from Michael, whose body was turned possessively toward Dean while taking in the conversation along the rest of the table. Dean could smell Abaddon’s rich sea-salt scent over the deeper notes of Michael’s woodsy aroma. Not for the first time, Dean thought it might be comforting if it wasn’t so terrifying. The entire room was choked with the heavy scent of alpha self-satisfaction.

“Dean, you’ve hardly touched your dinner,” Abaddon remarked, venom laced in her tone to match the blood red of her lips. Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“I—I—”

“Leave him be, Abaddon,” Michael said. “Dean is delicate. Unlike these three, he actually has a sense of omega propriety.”

The other omegas near Dean cringed as Michael eyed their near-empty plates. Dean wished he could acknowledge them, reach out in solidarity, but rules of social conduct required he only speak when engaged directly by an alpha. His stomach turned, however, as he thought of Michael’s attitude toward omegas and food. Was he expected to restrict his food intake? Would Michael restrict it on his own? If he lived with Michael, would he be allowed to set his own meals? The knot in Dean’s stomach grew tighter, and he couldn’t force himself to take another bite.

“More wine, Michael?” Zachariah called. Dean glanced up as a waiter took what had to be Michael’s fifth empty wineglass away and replaced it with a fresh one before Michael could even reply. Michael was flushed, eyes bright in the soft yellow glow of the room. He looked like he could hold his liquor, and with a fast alpha metabolism he probably could, but Dean could see Michael was well on his way to being drunk. Dean shivered.

“Are you cold, beautiful?” Michael asked, the slightest slur around the edges of his words. Dean shook his head.

“No, sir,” Dean replied quietly. He was actually quite warm, dressed in the fabulous tuxedo Michael had bought him for the fall social.

Soon after, at some unspoken signal, Zachariah and the other board members stood and moved into the parlor next door to the formal dining room in the President’s suite. Abaddon and the other ranking alphas all excused themselves, collecting their omegas from the edges of the room. Dean hoped Michael would bid him good night and let Dean escape, but as he stood Michael swayed a bit on his feet.

“Joining us, Michael?” Marv called from the parlor doorway.

“I don’t think so,” Michael replied, reaching for Dean. “I have an early flight in the morning.”

Marv gave Michael what Dean really hoped wasn’t a knowing look, then Michael wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders and led him out into the hallway. Michael was leaning fairly heavily onto Dean’s shoulders, and Dean had a sudden, manic thought that he could take Michael in a fight right now, if he was drunk. Which made no sense, because Dean couldn’t fight back no matter what happened. He had to play along if he didn’t want everything to crumble around him.

Michael led Dean past several doors, including the exit, until he reached a set of French doors that led out onto a balcony. It was way too cold to be outside without overcoats, but Dean wrapped his arms around himself and tried not to shiver.

“You’re so beautiful,” Michael breathed, gazing at Dean’s face in the moonlight. Dean blushed.

“Thank you, sir,” he murmured. Michael practically purred.

“So obedient. Vinehall has been good for you, Dean. You’re going to let me take care of you, aren’t you?”

Dean couldn’t reply, wasn’t sure what Michael wanted him to say, but Michael didn’t seem to care. Dean turned away, staring out at the Vinehall grounds. Michael sighed.

“I have something else for you,” Michael said softly.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Of course I did. You’re my omega, Dean. I will shower you with gifts if I want.”

Michael pulled a long, thin leather box from his jacket pocket and handed it over to Dean who tried not to let his hands shake as he took it and opened it.

Inside was a gorgeous gold watch. The face was delicate, almost feminine, done in a popular omega style, marked with “Cartier” in black lettering. Dean blinked a few times. The watch was probably worth what Dean had made in an entire year at the garage, maybe more.

“What do you think?”

Dean’s grip was getting slippery on the watch case. He held it carefully, still trying to keep his hands under control.

“It’s, uh . . . it’s _Cartier_ ,” Dean stammered.

“Yes, it is. And it’s _yours_.”

Dean flinched as Michael took the watch from the case, eased the case from Dean’s hands, then reached out to hold Dean’s wrist.

“So skittish,” Michael said, caressing Dean’s pulse point gently. Dean grit his teeth and tried to remain still. Michael brushed his fingers against Dean’s skin, pushing his sleeve back to reveal his wrist. Dean nearly hissed as Michael slid the watch over his hand and fastened it, then again as Michael lifted Dean’s wrist to his nose. He took a deep breath, then moaned. “You smell divine. Nothing like you did when we first met. There is a reason why suppressants are so restricted for omegas, Dean. It’s a crime to cover this up.”

Though his fingers continued to play across Dean’s skin, Michael stopped short of scent marking him. Dean could hardly stand the tension. “Will you . . . are you going to mark me, Alpha?” Dean asked softly, mouth dry. Michael chuckled.

“Not yet, little Omega. I’m going to court you, and then when the time comes, I will possess you, body and soul.”

Dean’s blood pounded in his ears and he had to work to keep from bolting. _This is for Sam. I can do this for Sam_ , he repeated to himself.

Michael pulled him closer by the wrist, wrapping an arm loosely around Dean’s waist. Dean turned his head away, baring his neck without thinking. Michael made a satisfied sound low in his chest, running his nose along the scent gland at the base of Dean’s neck. Every muscle in Dean’s body tensed, held taught against this alpha who was scenting him, making him vulnerable. One quick nip at the gland there, just under the thin skin, and his whole life would be over. Blood rushed through him, heart pounding as Michael hovered over him, breath hot against his skin.

_For Sam. To save Sam. To save Sammy. For Sam. Sam. Sam . . ._

“I don’t know how much longer I can wait,” Michael breathed. He was all over Dean, surrounding him with his warmth and his scent, pure Alpha in every breath Dean took. “You smell . . . oh, Dean. Your heat is close. I’ll send you something for it.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Anxiety had to be oozing from his pores; he wasn’t sure how Michael could stand it. But if that was true, about the heat . . . it made sense, then. His stupid fucking body. The omega in him recognized the powerful alpha, and though, yes, his heat was surely due soon, it shouldn’t be close enough for this alpha to smell. But apparently it was enough to override the sticky-sweet smell of fear.

“Th-thank you,” managed Dean. Michael pulled away, and Dean felt a knot in his chest loosen.

Everything was a post-panic blur after that, though he was sure Michael had walked him back to his room. Thank fuck no alphas were allowed past the doors, even members of the Board. Dean rushed to his room, practically stripping off his clothes as he went, ducked into the bathroom so fast he didn’t even see if Kevin was in, then turned the shower on as hot as it would go.

_Fucking omega biology_ , he thought, hissing as the scalding water hit his skin. _Fucking alphas and their fucking self-righteous bullshit . . . fucking ownership._

“Fuck this,” Dean whispered desperately. He lathered his hands and scrubbed harshly at his skin, sucking in the worn leather and honey of his own scent permeating the steam.

When he was done, he toweled off and settled in his room. He tore through his closet, looking for something, anything that hadn’t come from Michael, but he’d gotten rid of all his old clothes once he’d run out of room for new ones. He finally gave up, flinging himself onto his bed, naked, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Something heavy and warm still circled his wrist. It was the fucking watch, still ticking soberly away, despite its exposure to the hot water.

Well, something that cost thirty grand sure as hell better be waterproof.

Dean tore at his wrist, fumbling with the catch to rip the watch from his arm, dropping it onto the floor in a pile of blankets he hadn’t bothered to put back on his bed.

It took him a long time, but finally Dean’s breath evened out enough that he fell into a restless sleep.

 

 

 

Dean fidgeted with the buttons on his coat as he waited outside of the large house a few miles from the school. It was getting colder, and snowier, with the promise of even more snow soon in the forecast. It had been a couple of weeks since the dinner, but there were no signs of his heat yet. Still, it was reckless to be off campus on his own like this, especially with the plan he had in mind.

Sarah had said this was important. Gilda had promised him it would be just as confidential as his participation in Cas’s study. Kevin had told him he was an idiot, but Dean had to do _something_.

So, he knocked. A chipper, familiar redhead yanked open the door.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Charlie,” Dean said. Her eyes were nearly falling out of her head. “I, uh . . . I’m here for the . . . the thing.”

Charlie blinked at him for just a second, then seemed to recover. “Yeah. Yeah! Come in! Cas is with someone else right now, but if you just wait here, you’ll be next!”

She led Dean into a sitting room, full of plush, comfortable-looking furniture. She gestured to a sofa, and Dean perched on the edge, hands in his lap. He unwrapped his scarf from around his neck and pulled his coat off when Charlie reached for them. She took them into the hallway, then disappeared. Dean waited in silence, surveying the room. It was set up like a rec room in an alpha frat house. Or, at least it looked like one out of a movie. The furniture was all made out of soft, dark brown material, and there were a few game tables made out of dark-stained wood. The carpet was soft, and the walls were painted in a buttery yellow color, making the whole space feel warm and comforting, rather than oppressive.

“So you’re Dean.”

Dean jumped at the voice. He hadn’t scented anyone approaching, but there was a man leaning up against the doorway, staring at him. He was short, with shaggy brown hair even longer than Sam’s. And a beta, too, now that he was close enough for Dean to scent him, which explained how he was able to sneak up on Dean.

“Yup, that’s me,” Dean said. “And who’re you?”

“The owner of the house you’re sitting in, buck-o. And Cassie’s big brother, so careful who you piss off.”

Dean’s pretty shocked by the blunt words, especially from a beta to an omega, but also from an omega rights attorney.

“I, uh . . . I’m sorry . . . I didn’t . . .”

“Whoa, hey, don’t have a heart attack. Jeez, that school does a number on you guys. Or have you always been so . . . jumpy?”

Dean considers that only briefly. Gabriel, since that’s definitely who this is, is nothing like a typical beta, or a typical rich asshole. Dean didn’t used to be anything like a typical omega, either, but for all appearances now, he is. He rubbed the wrist that usually held the Cartier watch, which he very purposefully didn’t wear today.

And, damn, does he not want to look too closely at that.

“Listen, this whole thing is completely voluntary,” Gabriel says, steamrolling past Dean’s silence. “You’ve gotta make the choice to go in there.”

Dean swallowed. “Is he . . . Are they ready?” he asked. Gabriel narrowed his eyes, but nodded. Dean clenched his hands in the fabric of his jeans, rubbing his palms against the fabric. Now or never.

“Okay.”

 

 

 

“What story would you like to share?”

God, Castiel’s eyes were so earnest and so blue. Dean would have spilled everything to him right then, but the nagging uncomfortable edge to the situation kept him grounded. He shifted slightly, trying to ignore just how potent the apple spice scent of Cas was getting, rubbed his hand across his mouth, and took a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay, Cas. I gotta say . . . just, make sure it doesn’t come back, okay? I, uh, I got people I need to protect.”

Cas nodded, and Dean trusted him down to his very bones. “Okay. So, um, I was sixteen when I presented. My dad was always pretty good, you know? He got real messed up when my mom died, but he tried his best. Sometimes I got dumped with S—with my brother at our, uh, our uncle’s place. He had the garage, like I told you. I used to work there sometimes when I was a kid, just helping out and learning about cars. My dad was good about the car, too, let me help him keep her running. We were at my uncle’s place when I got my first heat.”

Dean had thought he was dying. It was more pain than he’d ever experienced in his life. It didn’t make any sense, either. He had always been pretty, and kind of small, but all Winchester boys grew out of that. They were alphas, and filled out with broad muscle. Dean may have gained some muscle over the years, but he stayed pretty. That first heat was the worst, but not the last, and as he slicked all over the bed and stroked himself until he came so often he stripped his skin raw, something inside him knew he was broken.

“When my dad got back, my uncle had to tell him. I begged, ‘cause . . . ‘cause . . . well, I just wasn’t supposed to be an omega, y’know? But Bobby told him. And Dad was . . .” Dean swallowed hard. That wasn’t the point of the story. “He died not long after. So me and my brother, we stayed with Bobby, and I just kept working at the garage.”

“Even though it was illegal,” Cas breathed. Dean gulped and nodded.

“It was the middle of nowhere, small town, everybody kept to themselves. Had a couple of regulars that knew, but they kept it a secret. Only sometimes, strangers would pass through. I was on suppressants, used blockers, beta scented shampoo and soap. We thought I was safe.”

It had been years since John died and Dean went to work full time. Years of alphas, betas, other omegas passing through. They’d been cautious, Bobby even overprotective. Dean still didn’t know exactly how Michael had found out. But he had, so nothing else really mattered.

“Strangers passed through all the time. It shouldn’t have been any different. But then . . . there was one . . .” Dean gulped. “Sam—my brother, he had a rough childhood. He got into some trouble, wasn’t gonna graduate, but then he turned it around. He’s really smart, gonna make a lot of himself, but me and Bobby, we couldn’t exactly pay tuition, and even though Sam was better, did so well his last two years of school, he wasn’t gonna get any help. So one day this alpha turns up at the shop, threatens to shut us down, have us all arrested, unless . . . unless . . .”

_“I will take care of you, Dean. Be mine.”_

“So, uh . . .” Dean trailed off. “That’s it. I told him okay. He was gonna help, gonna save the garage, put Sammy through school, wouldn’t send us to jail. So now . . . when I’m done, he’s, uh. Well, you know what the fuck ‘promised’ means, right?”

Dean’s stomach was twisted into a hundred knots, sharp, stabbing pain under his ribs. He felt like he was going to crack wide open, struggling to breathe, when suddenly Cas’s hand was on his knee, warm and solid. He looked up into blue eyes shimmering with tears.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said, then reached to turn off the recorder.

Dean’s chest heaved against the sobs threatening to overflow. He thought he was over this. He’d cried plenty, thinking about what could have happened, but this was the best case scenario. Sam was taken care of, so was Bobby, and Dean . . . what omega could want more?

“I’m so sorry.”

Ice seized Dean’s heart. “What the fuck are you sorry for?” Dean snapped. Cas removed his hand as though he’d been burned.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Cas said. “I’m sorry that you had to experience that.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, sure, fucking _alpha_ asshole, everything handed to you on a plate. I didn’t pick my life, buddy, I just played the hand I was dealt—”

“I know,” Cas replied softly. Dean pushed himself to his feet.

“I’m sure you fucking do. God, screw this.”

The anger had sprung to the surface so quickly Dean wasn’t even sure where it was from. All he knew was it was simmering painfully in his gut, twisting, wrenching, _screaming_ —

“Dean!”

Dean stopped, doubled over in pain, hand on his stomach, an involuntary groan pulled from him. Cas’s hand was suddenly on his back, searing, icy cool against the flaming heat of his skin . . .

“Fuck, Cas . . .”

“Dean, I . . .” Cas’s breathing hitched. “I think you’re in heat.”

“I can’t—I gotta get home.”

“Let me take you.”

Cas was still crowding him against the door as Dean fumbled with the knob in his sweaty palms. And he smelled so fucking _good_. All of Dean’s omega senses were crying out to get more contact from the beautiful, kind alpha. Memories of their one, searing kiss batted around in his head. He had never had a heat come on this quickly. It must’ve been the heightened emotions of telling his story to Cas, surrounded by that scent . . .

“Gabriel!”

Dean fell through the open door, stumbling over his feet as Cas caught him by the shoulders. The alpha was trying to have as little contact with him as possible, which Dean both resented and felt grateful for. Cas propped him up against a nearby wall and rushed off.

_Alpha, wait, come back!_

“Okay, okay, hey, buddy, take it easy.”

Dean’s head was fuzzy, far fuzzier than it usually was at this point, but he could tell that it was Gabriel’s hands on him, leading him deeper into the house.

“I gotta, gotta get home, Gabe—Gabriel . . .”

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m letting you go out like this, Dean-o. I’ve got a room set up back here for emergencies.”

“Can’t—no alphas—”

“Nope, no alphas. Locks from the inside with a deadbolt. Plus, just me and Cassie here with a security system on the outside doors and windows. We’ve got you.”

Dean let himself be led down a hallway and into a comfortable back bedroom on the second floor. There was a large, plush bed set up in the middle of a wall, and a large wardrobe next to a small window. It was, ironically, much like the heat rooms back at the school.

“Okay, Dean. You’ve got clean sheets and toys in here,” Gabriel said, indicated the wardrobe, “and Cassie and I will drop by with food and water. How long do your heats usually last?”

Dean sat down on the bed and tried to clear his thoughts. “Not sure,” he managed. “Last one was way too long . . . longer than it’s supposed to be. The doc said—said suppressants working their way out could make it weird.”

“That makes it a little more difficult, but don’t worry. I’ll try to explain your absence to the school somehow. Just relax, kiddo. We’ve got you.”

As Gabriel shut the door behind him, Dean dashed over to lock the deadbolt behind him. Flashes of jerking off to images of a blue-eyed dream alpha during his last heat came to him. And now, with the scent of Cas deep in his nostrils, knowing the alpha was somewhere in the house . . .

_Fuck_ , Dean thought, slick starting to stream from him and his dick starting to fill. _Why do I have to have the shittiest luck?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further warning: Michael touches Dean's hand and wrist without obtaining permission, and also scents Dean's neck without permission. Dean is extremely uncomfortable, violated and scared.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaahhh, it's been too long again! I'm not super happy with this chapter, but it's going to move us along into the next section. I hope you like it!
> 
> Also, please know that I read and adore every single comment, even if I don't get to reply. I want to get better about replying because I adore you all so much for responding to my work.
> 
> THIS CHAPTER IS NSFW!!!!
> 
> Warning for: Heat, dirty talk, Cas reacts VERY strongly to Dean's heat hormones

Castiel’s head was swimming. Everywhere he turned, that scent, the frankly _intoxicating_ scent of sun-soaked leather and sugary honey flooded his senses, making it hard to think, to even _see_. He had to get to it, had to . . .

But there was something, some reason . . . His heart raced, palms sweating, _god_ why wasn’t he looking for the source of that scent again?

His surroundings were familiar, and as he blinked against the clouds in his vision, Gabriel’s living room faded into view, but why wasn’t he moving? Couldn’t he get to that scent, to that _omega_ —

“Okay, buddy.”

Castiel growled as something solid hit his chest, and suddenly all he could smell was cotton candy, too sweet, too airy, wrong, wrong, _wrong_!

“Hey!”

Another voice shouted at him, and then someone sprayed him in the face with something that smelled like chemicals and shoved his nose into a bunched-up wad of fabric. He struggled, held down against his will, but something kept him from unleashing his full alpha strength. The fabric beneath him smelled like old books and apples, his own pheromones, and as his pulse returned to normal he realized that he must have been sprayed with scent neutralizers.

“Cassie, you back with us?” Gabriel asked, caution in his voice. Castiel took a deep breath of whatever had been shoved in his face—it felt like a sweater—and felt the adrenaline begin to recede. When his hands started to shake, he finally nodded. Gabriel sighed, patting his back.

“Okay, little brother. We’re gonna get you to your room. Is that all right?”

Castiel shook his head furiously. His room was upstairs, which meant he would have to pass too close to the hallway where Dean was. Dean, the beautiful omega with the addicting scent who was in heat, just a few doors away, and why was he sitting here again?

“Cassie, no! Shit, spray him again.”

He was hit with another burst of neutralizers, enough to startle him from his thoughts. Castiel dug his fingernails into his palms, forcing himself to calm.

“Room,” he ground out. Two sets of hands grabbed him by the arms, leading him across the living room.

“Up,” Gabriel said, and while they climbed the stairs together, Castiel held his breath and bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. Finally, Gabriel and his assistant—it had to be Charlie, right?—managed to get Cas into his bedroom, pushing him onto the bed and closing the door behind them. He breathed deeply into the sweater he was holding while he heard one of them move around the room, spraying everything with the neutralizer.

“All right, see if that will work,” Gabriel said. Castiel slowly lowered the sweater from his face to sniff cautiously at the air.

It smelled like antiseptic, sharp and astringent, with just a hint of Gabriel and Charlie’s scents. He nodded tersely, and both betas exhaled in relief. Charlie set about spritzing the scent-soaking items in the room, just in case. Castiel handed her the sweater sheepishly.

“Soak it and put it under the door,” he said hoarsely. She blinked at him, but nodded and did as he said. Cas could feel Gabriel’s gaze on him, but couldn’t bring himself to meet it.

“So.”

Castiel flinched. “It’s nothing,” he said, wincing at his own bold-faced lie.

“Nothing? Fuck, Castiel, we just had to drag your feral ass up the stairs before you broke in and ravaged that omega like something out of a bad porno!”

Cas glared at him. “I wasn’t _feral_.”

“Close enough. Jesus, what are we looking at? Some true mate bullshit, or--?”

“Please, Gabriel, you know that doesn’t exist.”

“Well, you scent bonded for sure. Damn, this sure does complicate things.”

“Complicate things?” Cas asked incredulously. “This is a disaster. We have to get him back to school before—”

“It’s too late. He’s gonna have to ride it out here. Obviously you can’t come downstairs for the duration. Great, now I’ve gotta make up some excuse to give Her Highness about why you aren’t working without making it look suspicious that Dean-o’s disappeared at the same time . . .”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know why he came here in the first place. It’s going to be difficult to ensure people don’t assume he’s run away. And we can’t . . . He’s doing this for his brother, Gabriel. He made it seem like terrible things would happen if he wasn’t able to fulfill his end of the bargain.”

Gabriel ran a frustrated hand down his face. “It had to be fucking _Michael_.”

Charlie let out a surprised sputter. “Michael _Milton_?” she said. Cas and Gabriel nodded. Charlie whistled. “Well that’s just dandy. You boys sure know how to step right into it, don’t you?”

“Got any bright ideas, Red?” Gabriel asked.

“Not at the moment, no. But Dean’s friends with Gilda, and I’m in contact. I’ll reach out to her and see what she can tell me that might help.”

She opened the door as little as possible when she left, but Castiel still held his breath just in case, then waited for Gabriel to spritz the air with more neutralizers for good measure before inhaling again. Gabriel placed the spray bottle next to the bed before sitting and giving Cas a side-eye.

“Don’t start, Gabriel.” Gabe raised his hands innocently.

“I don’t know what you think I was going to say, Cassie, but I assure you that I only have your best interests at heart.” Castiel scoffed.

“Yes, I’m sure. My estranged brother is only here to help.”

Gabriel gasped. “You wound me! I’ll have you know that I’m all about helping these days. Just ask your friends whose case I got dismissed. Ask Charlie.”

Castiel scrubbed at his mouth, inhaling deeply. “I think we’re in trouble,” he said softly. “I don’t want to hurt Dean.”

Gabriel regarded him for a moment. “I think . . .” He sighed. “You’ve got one god-damned unsatisfactory bitch of a situation here.”

Castiel squinted. “Is that a reference?” Gabriel chuckled.

“Look, here’s the thing. You’re a grown-up, he’s a grown-up, and sometimes the world just ain’t fair, kiddo. I hauled ass away from home because of it, became a famous omega-rights attorney because of it, but I’m here to tell you that I don’t think any good can come of this. For either of you.”

“Is it too late?”

“Maybe. Depends on what you do next.”

With that, Gabriel left him alone. His room was silent, now; the walls were well-soundproofed, but he imagined that if he strained his ears, he could just make out the sounds of Dean in the throes of his heat.

Dean, laid out on the bed, moaning and leaking, trying to satisfy an urge that Castiel was perfectly capable of satisfying . . .

Castiel ran his tongue over the sensitive place where he’d bitten on his cheek, tasting a hint of copper. This was completely ridiculous. No matter how compatible their scents were, no matter how much he yearned to go to Dean and relieve him of any pain, the simple fact was Dean was _not his_.

Dean belonged to Michael Milton.

The thought still made his stomach turn. Michael would suck the life out of the vibrant omega and leave him a broken shell of his former self. Castiel had seen it happen before. Had done nothing to help.

_Oh, Castiel. Can’t you let me go?_

“Anna, I’m so sorry,” Castiel whispered. The hole in his chest ached and he clutched at it, wishing that he could fill it with the green-eyed omega downstairs.

He needed to call Hannah. Perhaps he should even tell her to return to California without him. A wild thought of never returning flitted through his brain, and he nearly laughed. No, Naomi would never allow that. He would finish his project, then put Dean far, far behind him.

But before he left, he needed to make sure that Dean wouldn’t experience lasting harm from what Castiel had done.

 

 

As Dean’s heat wore on, Castiel became acclimated to his scent. By the third day, Castiel was able to venture into different parts of the house without experiencing rut-like symptoms (early on, Gabriel had mentioned that perhaps he should have kept taking his suppressants, which earned him a steely glare). Charlie and Gabriel had coordinated a complicated lie that excused Dean’s extended absence and put Castiel on the other side of the city (involving Hannah in a way that Castiel had hoped to avoid). In fact, for now the house was quiet in a way that felt very much like the calm before the storm.

Castiel, though, had been plagued by dreams, waking one morning to a mess in his underwear like he hadn’t experienced since he was a pup. He spent sporadic time throughout the day hard in his boxers, and once he had to excuse himself to ease his knot before he was able to rejoin Gabriel for dinner. His brother, for his part, had smirked _and_ rolled his eyes at that.

The fourth night of Dean’s heat, Castiel woke in a cold sweat, haunted not by images of Dean presenting and wrapped around his knot, but of Michael’s chilling gaze and Anna’s desperate pleas. He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes before finally getting up and going downstairs for a cold glass of water.

The house was nearly silent, except for the occasional creaks of the foundation settling. A voice wheedled at the back of his brain; he hadn’t actually seen or interacted with Dean since his heat hit. Had Dean been thinking about him? Was he doing all right? Perhaps he might need something, and Castiel could provide it . . .

His feet almost moved of their own accord. The closer he got to the hallway where Dean was ensconced, the more difficult it became to think clearly. Charlie and Gabriel had done their best to spray the neutralizer down the hall every time they went by to deliver food and water, but Dean’s pheromones were leaking from the cracks around the locked door.

And he smelled _heavenly_. It was faint enough that Castiel was able to keep his senses, but his boxers were becoming uncomfortably tight. The smell coming from Dean’s room was pure sex, even diluted through the neutralizers. He was right outside the door now, the air thick with Dean’s usual pheromones, and the sharp alkaline hint of slick.

“Oh, god,” Castiel breathed, knees nearly buckling. This had been a terrible idea. The worst. He needed to turn around and go back to bed now before—

“Cas?”

Castiel let out a whine, reaching to put his hands on the door. It was solid and cool beneath his palms; he wanted it to be Dean’s warm, yielding flesh.

“Dean,” he managed through his dry mouth. An answering whine filtered through the door.

“Fuck, alpha . . . shouldn’t be here . . .”

“I know,” Castiel answered, resting his forehead against the door. “Are you . . . are you all right?” he asked. A dark chuckle answered.

“’M fine. ‘S good as can be expected. Hot, thirsty.”

“How . . . how much longer . . .?”

“I dunno.” There was a long pause. So long Castiel thought Dean had moved away from the door. And then he spoke again.

“Would be shorter with you, I bet.”

Castiel swallowed hard around a lump in his throat. “You shouldn’t want that, Dean,” he breathed.

“But I do. I want you, alpha. Do you want me?”

“I—I can’t . . . Dean . . .”

“Want you. Been dreamin’ about you. Smell so good, alpha. Think about you kissing me, touching me. Know I shouldn’t, but fuck, nobody’s ever smelled as good as you.”

Castiel whined, pressing the heel of his hand against his cock, the base beginning to firm up in preparation for his knot. “What—what do you think about?” he dared. Dean groaned.

“Think about your mouth, alpha. That kiss. Wanna kiss you. Want you to put your mouth all over me. Kiss me, suck me . . . you want that?”

“I do, oh god . . .”

“What would you do, alpha?”

“I’d kiss you. You’re so precious, I’d show you . . . show you how you’re meant to be worshipped. Kiss all of your freckles, all over. See how far they go.”

“Mmm,” Dean moaned, and Castiel could hear the squish of slick against skin as Dean presumably ran his hand along his cock. “Got ‘em all over,” he panted. “Want your mouth everywhere.”

“I’d kneel before you, worship you, take you in my mouth while you whine and moan. I’d follow your slick down to the source, lapping it from you. I bet you taste divine.”

Dean gasped. “Ohhh, you, too. Apple pie . . . bet you taste like apple pie . . .”

Cas worked a hand into his boxers, wrapping it tight around his knot, knees going weak as he massaged it gently. Pre-come leaked from the aching tip of his cock and he smeared it to ease the way. He groaned, leaning hard against the door.

“Oh, Dean,” he hissed. “I wish . . . I wish . . .”

“Yeah, alpha, tell me what you wish.”

“I wish I could coat my hand in your slick to . . . to . . .”

“You touchin’ yourself, alpha?”

Castiel sucked in a breath. “Yes,” he sighed.

“Me, too. F-fuck, Cas want you . . . want your knot . . .”

“Please. Please, Dean . . . omega, _please_.”

The sound of slick and flesh quickened, Dean’s breath coming faster behind the door. Castiel tried to match pace, though it was almost too dry. He imagined sinking into Dean’s channel, tight around him, and his knees finally buckled. He heard Dean hit the floor on the other side.

“You thinkin’ about fucking me?” Dean murmured. “I’m thinkin’ about it. Your thick alpha cock, bet you’re big, stretching me wide. Filling me up. You’d fill me up so good, get me caught on that big knot. You like that?”

“D-dunno,” Cas panted. “Never—never had—”

Dean let out a long moan. “Nnngh, gonna be your first, Cas, gonna be the first omega to get that big knot. Tie me first, baby—fuck!—so close, gonna come on your knot.”

“Dean—Dean—cl-close . . .”

“That’s it, baby.” Cas closed his fist tight around his knot, squeezing hard. He moaned, the tight coil of arousal in his gut flaring as he thrust into the channel of his hand.

“I’m gonna—gonna--! Dean—” Cas gasped, then groaned as thick ropes of come spurted out over his hand, onto his belly and boxers where he’d pulled them down. A drop or two landed on the door, behind which Dean was whimpering.

“Oh, baby, wish I had you here, so empty, want you Cas. Fuck me, f- _fuck_!” Dean cried out, and suddenly the air was awash with the smell of omega come, sharp and acidic. Their scents mixed together in the air, and suddenly Castiel wanted nothing more than to curl up in their nest, surrounded by their mutual scents. He wished that they could.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, wiping up the evidence of what he’d done. Dean didn’t reply, though Cas couldn’t blame him. “How much longer, do you think?” Castiel asked.

“Not much,” Dean said, his voice completely flat. “Feeling pretty normal already.”

Castiel nodded, then said, “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

He sat in silence for another long set of moments. Dean didn’t speak, but Cas didn’t hear any sound of movement, either. It must have been a mark of how much Dean’s heat had waned that Castiel was able to stand and move away from the door.

“I will see you soon,” he said softly. And then, though his body rebelled against it, Castiel turned and made his way back upstairs.

He ran the shower as hot as he could stand, attempting to scrub the remnants of what he and Dean had done. Their scent bond was clearly going to be an issue.

Perhaps he could take Dean and run away, Castiel mused with abandon. Once his heat was done, they could pack up and flee. Gabriel would take care of anything here, could keep Dean’s brother and adopted father safe. He and Dean could go off into a cabin in the woods, where they could fulfill their fantasies and mate and stay together and perhaps, one day, in the not-too-distant future have a pup or two . . .

But, despite the appeal, they would certainly be found. And above all else, Castiel could not let an ill fate befall Dean.

Even if he had to watch his omega mate another.

 

 

The next morning when Castiel came downstairs for breakfast, Dean was sitting at the table. He was freshly showered, and from the lack of scent, completely drenched in neutralizers and blockers. Castiel ignored the disappointed swoop in his stomach and went straight for the coffee.

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” Gabriel said from his place at the table. Castiel grunted at him. “Don’t grunt at me. I know what you did. Bunch of horny teenagers.”

Castiel watched the blush flood Dean’s cheeks and ignored the warmth that bloomed in his chest at the sight. His alpha hindbrain still seemed to think that Dean had been claimed in some way last night, so his instinct was to immediately go to him. However, he was in enough control of himself to take the seat at the far end.

“So, you should know that Dean has to head back to school with Charlie this morning,” Gabriel said. “Dean, we said that you were checked out officially when you went into heat, and were taken care of by a Vinehall-approved physician for the duration.”

Dean snorted. “They bought that?” Gabriel shrugged.

“To be honest, Dean-o, they mostly look the other way for this shit. It’s just because you were lucky enough to snag the attention of a member of the board that you’re under such strict lock and key.”

“Lucky me,” Dean muttered into his coffee. He looked thin, Castiel observed. He wondered if Gabriel had been feeding him enough during his heat. Then again, if it was as difficult as it had seemed at first, he might not have been up to eating much during it.

Another reason why Dean needed an alpha who would cherish him and take care of him. Not treat him like a trophy or worse . . .

“Yo, earth to Cassie!”

Castiel blinked, looking over at Gabriel who was currently snapping in Cas’s direction. Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You gotta lay low,” he says. “Hannah covered for you, said you were sick. She called Naomi and told her you were working on wrapping up your project. She’s going to want to hear from you soon, though.”

Castiel nodded, staring into his coffee. Gabriel looked back and forth between Dean and Cas.

“Look, stop smelling like a goddamn funeral. You two made this bed, now you gotta reap it. I know this sucks, but stow it! I’m risking my ass to cover both of yours, so get it together and suck. It. Up. Behave like grown ups!”

Gabriel stood and stalked away from the table, leaving Dean and Cas in silence.

Finally, Dean cleared his throat. “I dunno if it’s a good idea if you use my recording,” he said quietly. Castiel nodded.

“I can delete it, if you like.”

“Okay.”

They sat together for a long while before the front door opened to Charlie bringing in a pile of Dean’s clothes.

“Gilda picked them up for me,” she said, depositing them in Dean’s lap. “Can’t go back to Vinehall in some alpha’s clothes.”

Castiel perked up, noticing for the first time that Dean was wearing a pair of Cas’s sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Something restless quieted down inside him at the sight.

When Dean got up to go change, Charlie slid into his seat.

“Dude, cheer up. You smell like a funeral.”

Castiel didn’t meet her smile. “I’m likely going home to California soon,” Castiel said flatly. “I’m going to parse my files for the rally and send you what I have. I have to . . . Dean wants me to delete his first.”

Charlie nodded, regarding him shrewdly. “You’re doing good work, you know,” she said. Castiel lifted the corner of his lips in a small smile.

“As are you,” he replied. Charlie grinned.

“Maybe one day we’ll change the world.”

Castiel sipped his coffee. “Yes. Perhaps.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I've got most of the story planned (I may add some tags as I finalize more details), but I am writing as I go for right now. I hope to get a few chapters ahead at some point. I'm excited about this story and hope you are, too. Kudos and comments are wonderful, as always, and if you subscribe you'll get updates straight to your inbox! THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN FOR READING!!  
> Also, if you have questions you don't want to leave in a comment, or just want to say hi, drop by my [tumblr](http://andromachewritesstuff.tumblr.com)!


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